


Aép Deien, Aen Deireádh

by Lyracst



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Falling In Love, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rebuilding, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23938771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyracst/pseuds/Lyracst
Summary: Following the events of The Witcher 2, Iorveth and his band of Scoia'tael adjust to life within a united Vergen under Saskia's rule, but their peace is short-lived.Primarily Iorveth POV.NOTE: Contains spoilers from The Witcher 2.  The characters and setting of this fic belong to Andrzej Sapkowski and CDPR; this is simply a tribute from a loving fan.  Re-posted fic from my old account, previously titled "To Serve, to Survive."
Relationships: Iorveth/Saskia (The Witcher)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	1. Hearthside

The streets of Vergen had never been safer, but Iorveth could not remember the last time he felt so overwhelmingly tense. His inability to remember could have been, in part, due to the contents of the pipe he was currently smoking. He had toyed with the herbal blend himself, tinkering with the concentrations until he had found just the right mix to relax his taut muscles and mind. Iorveth knew it was a fickle solution, one that would never stand the test of time, and that sooner or later he would need to find another way to handle his unease. For now, however, he was content to spend his night drawing a hot bath, smoking his pipe, and counting the reasons to be grateful: the roof over his head and walls around him, the food on his table, the momentary security of his Scoia’tael brethren provided by Saskia’s favor. It was a time to relax and recuperate, but Iorveth could hardly keep himself from wondering about what came next for him and for his comrades. 

The elf reclined in his small, metal tub and inhaled deeply from his pipe. He removed and tossed aside the bandana hiding the right side of his face, the majority of which was disfigured with a deep, long scar that stretched down from his forehead, taken his eye, and ended at the edge of his lip. Steam rose around him, the heat of the water soaking through his numerous scars and deep into his muscles. He set his pipe aside and massaged his arms and legs, focusing on the worst of his wounds, which sometimes ached as if in memory of the biting weapons that had caused them. The effects of the herbs kicked in quickly, encouraged by the heat. His skin tingled pleasantly, his shoulders relaxed, and his thoughts wandered away from the recent battles and bloodshed, turning instead towards more pleasant imaginings. 

Saskia. 

It was foolish to think of her. Saskia knew him well, though not as well as he knew her. Iorveth knew she had entertained ideas of them together, and he knew that she dismissed them for all the reasons he knew she would. They were the very same reasons that haunted him wherever he went, even here in Vergen. He was a terrorist. At least, this is what everyone believed of him. In truth, Iorveth had done most things in his long life out of necessity, for the sake of survival and to protect his family and friends. Even so, he knew how he appeared in the eyes of most, and no matter how he tried to prove himself otherwise, it would never change, not fully.

“So be it,” he muttered, sinking lower into the steaming water. No one could stop him from dreaming.

And so he did. As the warmth of the bath and the benevolent high from his pipe took hold, Iorveth drifted off into a pleasant half-sleep. Saskia. In his mind, she was standing before him, smoky-blue eyes afire with the adrenaline of battle, lips parted in a victorious smile. Her golden hair was falling out from the knot she kept it neatly tied in, and tendrils of it curled around her sweet face. She called his name with joy, and his heart swelled as she reached out to embrace him. She crashed into his arms fiercely, and he held her close, the fingers of one hand twining gently into her hair while his other hand drew her waist to him. He could smell every aspect of her at this proximity: the flowery scent of her skin and hair, the smell of sweat and blood brought forth by battle, and beneath that her true scent, something metallic and ancient yet wonderfully sweet. Saskia drew back from him, breath quickened with elation, and smiled up at him, drawing him into a crushing kiss that pressed their bodies together. Her fingers crept through his hair, and her lips parted as their kiss deepened…

A sudden knock at his door made Iorveth start with alarm. His hand reached for his dagger, which of course was not at his naked waist, and he cursed under his breath as the initial wave of alertness subsided into wariness. It was rare for Iorveth to have visitors at all, let alone this late in the evening.

“What?” He snapped, reaching for his bandana and slipping it into place. Iorveth sat up a little straighter in the tub and shuddered lightly at the touch of cool air against his bare chest. The handle of his front door turned, but he caught her scent before he saw her, and for a moment he wondered if he was hallucinating. He glanced suspiciously at his pipe, then back to the doorway through which she slipped.

“Saskia?” He blinked in surprised, his addled thoughts further confused as his eye confirmed her presence. 

“Greetings Iorveth,” Saskia murmured, her voice oddly hushed. Her gaze flicked around the room, then down to his bare chest, then away in surprise. She lingered in the doorway as if uncertain what to do next. A cloak was draped about her, covering her head, hiding her face and the shape of her body. “I apologize for the intrusion, I--I shouldn’t have come by at such a late hour.”

“It’s no intrusion,” Iorveth assured her, increasingly baffled by her indecisive behavior. It was very unlike her. “Is something wrong?”

Saskia regarded him for a long moment, then exhaled slowly, releasing a breath that it seemed she had been holding for some time. “No, nothing is wrong. I...I simply realized I hadn’t seen you in awhile, and I wished to visit you.”

If her confession was supposed to put Iorveth at ease, it did nothing but the opposite. His face hardened with mistrust, and his eye wandered to his clothing, amongst which sat his dagger. Saskia gave a soft laugh, noticing his suspicion, and finally stepped forward into his home. 

“I suppose surprising you mid-bath would be great timing, were I one of your enemies. Fortunately, I am not.”

Iorveth eyed her with ongoing wariness, but beckoned towards a nearby stool. She accepted it graciously and drew it a little nearer. She let her cloak fall to the floor and seated herself, still largely avoiding his gaze. 

“Surely you didn’t trade in the niceties of your chambers just to sit about in my humble home.”

“No, I came to sit with you.”

Iorveth shifted within the bath, placing his arms on either side of the low tub. When at last she looked at him, he caught her eyes with his one and held her gaze. 

“Why?”

Saskia looked at him and opened her mouth helplessly, though no words would come.

“It’s been weeks since you and I spoke. Anything I’ve heard of you or what you’ve been working on has been word of mouth or rumor. At best, I’ve seen you in passing, but you’ve hardly noticed me at all. So, you’ll forgive me if I am hesitant to believe that you suddenly miss our cherished friendship. Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

Saskia clenched her jaw defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest. Her smoky eyes blazed, anger rising to mask the nerve Iorveth had struck and wounded. As she summoned her undoubtedly elusive response, he took the time to really look her over to see what he could gleam from the rest of her. She wore a simple, white blouse, cut low with flared sleeves - no armor or chainmail. The tops of her breasts were exposed - they rose and fell with every breath, and he had to force himself to not let his gaze linger. Her leather breeches and boots were equally as casual, though she did sport a knife at her belt, as he would expect. Her hair was tied up in its usual way, though it was beginning to fall loose in places, just as it had in his daydream. She wore a small, golden necklace about her throat. Otherwise, she was dressed unusually plainly, as if she truly had decided on visit him spontaneously. Even so, it was difficult for Iorveth to believe that she was here because she desired his company. 

At last, she uncrossed her arms and spoke. When she did, her voice was soft. “I deserve your suspicion and understand why you are angry with me.” 

Iorveth blinked in surprise, her vulnerability shaming him. 

“In truth, I miss you. In court, I am surrounded by those who tell me what I wish to hear simply because I wish to hear it. You’ve never done me such disservice. During Vergen’s war, I depended on your honest guidance. Now, I remember it with longing. Yet, you know I am unable to keep you closer. It is not my wish, but it is necessary.”

“You are Upper Aedirn’s queen, Saskia. All you must do to materialize your desire is say the word. If you say that you trust me and the counsel that I offer you, your people will learn to trust me as well. Or is it that you yourself no longer trust me?”

Saskia looked away, revealing the truth without having to speak a word.

Iorveth gritted his teeth and looked away as well, the realization more painful than he wished to acknowledge. 

“Then why the fuck am I still here?”

He extracted himself from his now-cool bath suddenly, his head spinning slightly, though whether that was from the contents of his pipe, the rapid change in temperature, or his mounting anger and frustration, Iorveth could not say. He reached for a towel and wrapped it about his waist, stalking off towards where his bed was modestly sectioned off from the rest of his home behind a barrier constructed of sticks and furs. 

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Saskia,” he dismissed her tersely, daring not to speak more lest his voice betray how wounded he truly felt. 

Iorveth stepped behind the barrier and closed his eye, a prolonged, internal monologue of curses streaming through his thoughts. He waited impatiently for the click of his front door to signal her departure so that he could retrieve his pipe and maybe a strong drink or five, but he heard nothing. After a minute or two, he wondered if he had missed her leaving, and just as he was about to turn to check, gentle hands slipped about his waist. He jumped in alarm and had to force himself not to strike out in defense, a reaction built on a lifetime of caution and danger. But her touch was not rough, not malicious or cruel. Her fingers traced the scars that ran towards his stomach and upwards towards his chest. There were many, mapped over his skin in varying stages of healing. Several of them were new, obtained during their defense of Vergen’s walls. No doubt, Saskia had several of her own.

His muscles tensed as she continued to touch him, drawing her own, warm body closer to his. He could feel the soft press of her chest against his bare back, and his lightheadedness intensified. 

“Iorveth,” she spoke his name as if begging, the word both a question and a command. 

He relented and turned to face her, and when he did, there was a glimmer of tears in her eyes. 

“I have thought about you for a long time, ever since my fight with the witcher. When he lifted my curse, he bid me to think of you, to consider all that you have done for me. And I have.”

Gwynbleidd. Iorveth’s heart lifted, and he made a mental note to buy his friend a drink the next time he saw him.

“My hesitance is not due to my lack of feelings for you, Iorveth. Please understand that just because I decided that we cannot be together does not mean that I do not care for you. I do.”

Her hand trailed lower down his body, but Iorveth twisted away, shaking his head.

“That’s not what I want from you.”

“It’s part of what you want,” Saskia countered, stepping towards him with every step he took back. “Compromise with me, Iorveth. Let me give you what I am able.”


	2. Want & Need

If any doubt lingered in his mind that this was real and not yet another dream, it vanished as she cornered him, advancing with the certainty that he knew so well. Many times, he had watched her corner her foes in a similar fashion, and he had looked on in admiration. Now, being the sole focus of her intense attention, he almost felt sorry for those she had dominated on the battlefield.

“Saskia.”

Iorveth’s shoulder blades bumped against the wall, and he could retreat from her no further. He raised his arms to stop her, but she seemed to effortlessly slip past them, so his hands instead gripped her waist. She closed in until her body pressed up against his, and he was suddenly painfully aware that all that separated them now were her clothes and his thin towel. Iorveth swallowed hard, even his herb-addled mind aware enough to know that accepting her proposal would be a mistake for him. Until now, his only way to keep his longing for her at bay was to have no other choice. But here she was, standing before him, awaiting his answer with her beautiful, big eyes trained on his face. How could he tell her the truth? How could he make her see what she meant to him? And even if he could, how could he change her mind about him? The truth, he knew, was far simpler. She would not change her mind, and if he denied her now, he could very well lose her altogether. 

Not one for patience, Saskia raised herself on her toes and brought her lips dangerously close to his, her gaze still locked with his. His heart was racing, and whether or not he liked the circumstance, Iorveth could not deny that here in his small home, alone with her, he felt more alive than he had for many years. His arms tightened around her waist, drawing her impossibly close, and pressed his lips to hers at last. Many times he had imagined this moment, but nothing could have prepared him for how completely she overwhelmed his senses. The scent of her, her taste, the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her sweet lips. Iorveth knew if he could keep a single moment of his arduous, long life in his mind forever, he would always choose this one.

She pressed herself against him, her nails scratching lightly over his chest. Iorveth’s breath caught slightly as she grazed a half-healed wound, and Saskia pulled away slightly. She glanced at him quickly, apologetically, but Iorveth thought he saw another glint of hidden tears at the corners of her eyes. She pressed her lips gently to the wound she had touched, then to another scar, and another. Iorveth closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall as she worked her way up to his neck, tracing his intricate tattoo with her lips and tongue. As her face pressed against his skin, he was certain he felt the cool kiss of a tear, and Iorveth squeezed her hips gently, urging her to pause. She looked up at him, and he slid a hand into her hair, his thumb tracing the delicate edge of her jaw.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, his single eye studying her closely.

Her jaw clenched, fighting back what he could imagine was a myriad of twisting thoughts and emotions, none of which she seemed keen on facing right now. She nodded resolutely, pulling him into another deep kiss. Her lips parted and her tongue sought his own, tasting him as he tasted her. 

“Please,” she whispered, “Iorveth, I need you.”

Iorveth had never known Saskia to be vulnerable, but the truth she was sharing with him now was an honor he knew was bestowed upon very few people, and he would do anything to keep from letting her down. He enclosed her in his arms and lifted her off her feet, guiding her legs about his waist and the now precariously-clinging towel still around his hips, and walked the two of them to his small, low bed. It was a humble place to rest, a thin feather mattress piled with an assortment of furs. He nervously hoped she would find it comfortable - no doubt it was far different from her own bed. But if she minded, she did not show it. He lowered her onto the bed and lay between her legs which she kept wrapped tightly about him, pulling him as close to her as she was able. His fingers crept into her hair, tugging away the tie that kept her golden curls in place. Saskia smiled and shook her hair out for him. 

“Esseath elaine,” he murmured, combing his fingers through her thick hair as he kissed her throat, lips trailing down to her collarbone. 

She arched her back, urging him to move lower, and so he obeyed. Iorveth slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her blouse and coaxed the garment up. Saskia lifted her arms to aid him, and he slipped it over her head, freeing her, and tossed it aside. As he witnessed her bare torso for the first time, he at some point stopped breathing, his eye wide. She chuckled, her arms splayed out beside her in submission, and stroked his side with the toes of her right foot. 

“Are you pleased?”

“Saskia,” he whispered her name in near disbelief, incredulous of her beauty. 

She seemed content with his answer and slipped her fingers around his biceps, tracing his muscles upwards to his shoulders, his neck. She ran her hands through his hair, respectfully taking care not to dislodge his bandana, and gently scratched his scalp as kissed his way down her neck to her breasts. He took one of her nipples in his mouth while his thumb gently circled the other, fingers flexing gently into the softness of her breast. Saskia moaned softly, and her fingers fell loose from his hair as she allowed him to do as he pleased. Iorveth captured her right wrist with his free hand, pinning her arm gently as he used his teeth to tease her. Her soft cries of pleasure were dizzying, a secret and beautiful melody he had imagined many times. 

He turned his attention lower, running his fingers along her firm, muscular abdomen. To his quiet delight, goosebumps followed his touch, and she gave a soft shudder of anticipation as his fingers reached the edge of her breeches. He traced along the fabric’s edge thoughtfully, finding a peace in simply being with her, and he wondered...perhaps if he took his time, made the night last long enough…

Saskia sensed his hesitance and sat up slowly. She reached out for him, gently pulling him by his arms, and urged him into bed. He sat beside her and complied as she slowly unwrapped the towel from his waist, lowering it to the ground. She drew away just long enough to remove her breeches and underclothes and stood before him, completely exposed. No words could truly describe how beautiful he found her, so Iorveth did not speak, but instead reached for her. Saskia stepped forward into his arms willingly and lowered herself into his lap. As she straddled him, she slid her hips forward, stroking his readiness with her own warmth, and they both groaned lightly at the sensation. Her eyes locked with his, seeking his consent, and he granted it with a slow, deep kiss. Iorveth pressed his fingers into the sides of her powerful thighs, lifting her so that Saskia could reach between them and guide him to her entrance, which she did eagerly. 

Her beautiful eyes danced with exhilaration as she gazed down at him. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, sliding sweetly down with a moan. Iorveth could not help but groan with her, eyes closing as her warmth embraced him, squeezing him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close as he was able, and buried his face in her neck. Iorveth had experienced many things in his long life, but the feeling of her surrounding him was beyond compare. 

His hands slid to her hips to hold her place, and he thrust into her slowly, savoring each moment as her body adjusted to his presence, resisting just enough to make her gasp with pleasure. He repeated the motion several times, slowly, and lowered one hand to the sensitive crest between her legs, just above where he entered her. He massaged her in steady, diligent circles, adjusting the pressure based on her reaction to his touch. She bucked her hips against him, crying out at the burst of pleasure it brought. 

For a moment, Iorveth was too absorbed in their actions to notice her hand pressing into his chest, but she pushed harder, and his eye opened in surprise. Her gaze was beyond intense, almost savage, as she shoved him back and down towards the bed. 

“Lie back,” she commanded in a hoarse whisper.

If there was one person in the world whose orders Iorveth would obey without thought, it was hers, and he gladly did as she commanded. Saskia scooted forward on her knees and pressed her legs close to his sides, settling into a position that was comfortable for her. Iorveth’s pulse raced with anticipation, and he slid his hands up her thighs, around the curve of her hips, up along her narrow, muscled waist, and to the beautiful curve of her breasts. She leaned forward to kiss him, her long, golden hair falling around them, and he opened his mouth to her inquiring tongue, pleased to taste her again. She moaned softly against his lips, and he felt his elfhood throb in answer, which in turn amplified her moan into a sudden cry of pleasure. 

Saskia pressed her palms into his shoulders and straightened her back, lifting herself away from him and driving back down hard. She shuddered with pleasure as he filled her, her fingers flexing against his skin as she steadied herself and repeated the motion, slowly at first, then faster as she found a rhythm that pleased them both. Her sweet moans grew again, yielding to breathless cries as she leaned forward, angling him precisely within her to most please herself. Iorveth matched her rhythm as best he could, the pressure along his spine building steadily as she rode him. Her pace was slowing and she grew quiet, but he could feel her gripping him tighter as she neared release, her eyes closed and brow furrowed in intense concentration. Iorveth sat up slightly and drew her close to suck at the sensitive skin of her neck, his fingers between her legs pressing harder and massaging her more quickly. Saskia drove down on him once more and shuddered, pleasure rippling through her body, emanating from her core and moving down her legs, up her spine. She cried out as her muscles contracted hard, and again, and again, her back arching in waves for several seconds. 

At last, she slumped forward, her chest pressing against his as she buried her face into the crook of his neck. He could her quickened breathing against his skin as she recovered, every now and again a whimper escaping her lips. Iorveth ran his fingers along her spine and enjoyed the music of her sounds and her quickly-beating heart. But, still joined to him, she soon realized he remained aroused. She smiled against his neck and squeezed him pointedly, and she was rewarded with a delirious groan. Lifting herself to her palms, she looked down into his face with a grin. 

“Your turn,” she urged him. 

“Are you certain?” Iorveth had no intention of continuing if she felt finished, but he would gladly accept her invitation if she wished to continue.

She grinned and squeezed him again as an answer, and he gripped her waist and flipped them both quickly so that she was beneath him. Saskia giggled in surprise and Iorveth cherished the sound - so rarely did he hear her so happy and relaxed. Steadying himself on his forearms, he pressed his forehead to hers and drew himself away until he was nearly out of her. She closed her eyes and moaned softly at the sensation, nails trailing over his arms and back. He waited until she began to squirm with impatience, trying to draw him back into her, then thrust himself forward. She immediately cried out, the pleasure of their reunion heightened by the sensitivity of her post-orgasm body. 

Iorveth lifted himself to his knees and gripped her hips, thrusting into her hard and quickly. Her cries of pleasure quickly heightened in pitch as he angled himself deep into her. The sight of her arching and writhing in pleasure, beautiful breasts moving with his thrusts, aroused him more deeply than anything he had ever experienced. For a moment, his mind retreated to a previous fear that he was dreaming or hallucinating, but Iorveth knew that nothing he could ever imagine could compare to this, to her. He growled with pleasure as her legs tightened around his hips, pulling him closer and deeper with each thrust. Her abdomen began to flex, and she began to sit up slightly as another peak drew near, her muscles tightening with anticipation. He, too, rushed past the edge, and they cried out together as they finished in unison, Iorveth burying himself as deep within her as possible. Her muscles squeezed at him, coaxing every wave, every spasm of pleasure, until they both shuddered with relief and were still. 

Iorveth remained within her until their breathing had slowed and their pulses had returned to a sluggish, sleep pace. Unwillingly, he slowly drew out of her, and she gasped as they parted, back arching one last time. He rolled onto his back beside her, content to rest in the haze of lingering pleasure that she had granted him. Saskia shivered slightly and laughed. 

“I think your hearth’s gone cold.”

Iorveth glanced to the small, stone fireplace and grunted in confirmation.

“It has.”

Saskia burrowed into the pile of furs on his bed, casting a particularly large one over both of them. He chuckled gratefully, drawing the blanket up to cover most of his chest. As they lay together, Iorveth’s thoughts slowly began to wander back to their conversation before they had gone to bed. He knew he should leave well enough alone and not press her, but as he had told her, his need for her went beyond the physical pleasure they were obviously capable of sharing. He admired her more than anyone, and Iorveth needed to know what she truly felt about him. 

“Tell me,” he dared, “how is it you no longer trust me enough to let me stand at your side in court, yet you lie here in my bed?”

Saskia tilted her head towards him, eyes glinting in the dim light. 

“Iorveth, wouldn’t you agree that you know me better than anyone?”

“I think that’s probably true.”

“Then you know full well that I do trust you. Being who I am, a woman of common birth, I already ask a great deal of the people of Upper Aedirn to trust me. They must see for themselves that the Scoia’tael - and their handsome, fearless leader - are not a threat. Showing an unordinary amount of favor for the Scoia’tael would only discredit you and me.”

Iorveth growled under his breath, loathe to admit that she was right, but she absolutely was. Saskia turned towards him and placed her hand upon his chest. He covered it with his own, clutching her palm to his heart. 

“You and your people are warriors. You were born into it out of necessity, I know this. But if you wish to build a good future for the Scoia’tael, you must help them learn how to live during times of peace. Show them how to make Vergen their home, not just another temporary battlefield. Give them pride to live here. The less the Scoia’tael and you are treated differently, the less like outsiders they will seem. In time, Vergen will be theirs just as much as anyone’s.”

“My Queen is wise,” Iorveth ran the pad of his thumb along her hand, the delicate underside of her wrist. “The world would be a far better place if everyone had a fraction of the wisdom that you do.”

Saskia smiled, grateful for his words, but gently broke away from him and began to reach for her clothing. She pulled her blouse over her head, and Iorveth gently caught her arm.

“Stay the night,” he urged softly. “Stay with me.”

She smiled sadly and lowered her gaze, “You know I can’t.”

He did know, but he had to ask. He released her arm, and she resumed getting dressed. As she pulled on her breeches, Iorveth laid his head back into the furs on the bed and watched her, savoring each remaining moment as it passed. When she was finished, she moved to his side and bent over to kiss his forehead, her fingers gently brushing through his hair one last time. 

“Will you visit again soon?”

His emerald eye pinned her in place, hoping to secure just one promise from her. She straightened and turned for the door. He closed his eye, for the second time in one evening waiting for the click of his door to signal her departure, and once again it did not come. He stood and retrieved his own breeches, pulling them on. Saskia stood near the door, thoughtful, silent, and shrouded again in her dark cloak so as not to be recognized. 

“Well? Will you?”

She met his gaze briefly as if she intended to answer, then turned away and opened the door.

“Goodnight, Iorveth.”

Then, she was gone. 

“Va fail, Saskia,” he murmured. 

Iorveth put out the few candles that still dutifully flickered and returned to his bed to lie among the furs that still smelled like her and to reflect on what she had said. But the scent of her soon drove his thoughts to the evening they had spent together, to the sound of her voice as she cried out, the feel of her body as she arched against him, and for once he fell into sleep without fear of dark dreams. Instead, he knew, he would dream of her, and he slept the night through in peace.


	3. Idle Hands, Part I

Aiding dirty dh’oine peasants was not Iorveth’s first choice in terms of how he wished to spend his day, but his recent conversation with Saskia remained with him, fresh in his thoughts. Her belief was that in order for the Scoia’tael to become an accepted part of Vergen’s community, they needed to feel connected to the war torn city. It was a good theory, one that Iorveth truly hoped proved correct. For countless years, he had longed to see his brothers and sisters living in peace, their bows hung up on their walls, their armor collecting dust in some corner, their children laughing and dancing and playing in the sun. Looking about the impoverished streets of Vergen, it was difficult to imagine that this could be the city to bring his dream to fruition, but with Saskia as its ruler...well, he believed she could accomplish almost anything, with a little help.

“Bloede…! Iorveth, must we keep doing this? We’ve been working at this all morning.”

Iorveth turned from the door he was attempting to repair to regard the Scoia’tael who had spoken, a young, gaunt-faced half-elf who had apparently managed to hammer his finger rather than the nail he was targeting. Brenswyck, that’s his name. Iorveth glowered at the younger elf until he looked away nervously and returned to his work.

“Is that whining I hear? Whining from a Scoia’tael?” Eislenir circled the culprit, her face stern. “Go on, then, Brenswyck, take a rest if you’re tired. There’s sure to be a nice, wool blanket somewhere amongst the wreckage if you’d like to lie down. Would you like me to fetch you a glass of warm milk, too? I’m sure the tenants of this house we’re trying to rebuild will be very sympathetic of your complaining.”

That shut him up. Iorveth grinned slightly despite himself, grateful for Eislenir’s willingness to help him keep the others in line. She had been with his company of Scoia’tael for some time, longer than most, and she had proven to be quite dependable. What was more, she seemed to believe in Saskia’s ideals almost as strongly as he did. When Iorveth had commanded his people to start helping those whose homes were razed in the fight for Vergen, Eislenir had been the first to step up and get to work. As a reward, the dark-haired, olive-skinned, green-eyed elf commanded a small unit of her own and reported frequently to Iorveth.

“After we finish this house, I want three or four of you with me to start working on the walls,” she announced, and none dare argue. Iorveth gave her a nod of approval, and she traded it for a wink, vanishing back to the other side of the crumbled stone house to continue her work. 

The sun was high and bright, and the work was slow-going, but Iorveth was grateful to be busy. His restlessness had been temporarily abated after Saskia’s evening visit to his home, but the edge had returned quickly. Most of his life, Iorveth had lived one battle to the next. No doubt it was the same now, but Vergen tended to feel small, cramped, and eerily calm to the perpetual wanderer. His thoughts turned to the hills outside of Vergen’s gates. Although overrun with harpies, the tall trees and wide rivers provided a familiar comfort to the elf. Unfortunately, it also could provide good cover for enemies, Iorveth suspected. It would be wise to scout the area soon, especially while Vergen’s walls remained vulnerable.

Approaching footsteps brought Iorveth back to the present, and he peered down to the road that ran near the cluster of houses that made up Vergen’s human enclave. It was Saskia. She road with a small retinue that included Cecil Burdon, Zoltan Chivay, the bard Dandelion, and a few other dh’oine that Iorveth recognized but did not know well. 

“Hael, Eislenir! Hael, Iorveth!” Saskia raised a hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun and looked up at them from the road. 

Iorveth wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his arm and raised his hand to her in greeting. She favored him with a smile, the warmest public interaction she had given him since they had returned from Loc Muinne. Eislenir stepped forward and raised a hand in greeting as well.

“Hael, Queen Saskia. Is all well?”

“Yes, Master Burdon is treating us with a riveting lesson on the various types of terrain around Vergen. His details on mud are especially bracing.”

Cecil grumbled something about the importance of knowledge and waved a dismissive hand, “Meet me back at the town hall when you’ve finished socializing.”

“Actually, you all go on ahead with Cecil. Iorveth, may we speak for a moment?”

Iorveth raised his brow in surprise. “Of course.”

“Excellent. Walk with me.”

Iorveth jumped the low wall between the house and the road. Saskia smiled and beckoned him to join her, so he walked by her side away from the others. 

“You and your Aen Seidhe are doing good work. The tenants of the house you are repairing, they’re elderly and have very little. They wouldn’t have been able to fix their home themselves. Thank you.”

Iorveth nodded but did not speak, his thoughts preoccupied with why she might have pulled him aside. He did not have to wait long to find out. As they turned a corner, Saskia led him into a small, secluded courtyard behind an empty house. When they were sufficiently far back from the road, she turned to him and drew close, eyes gleaming.

“I...also wanted to thank you...for the other night.”

Iorveth tilted his head in confusion. “Thank me?”

“I know it isn’t perfect, that you want more than what I can offer you, but that night...it helped me. I’ve been thinking of it ever since. I hope it helped you, too.”

“I have to admit, I’m a little confused.”

Saskia turned away, surveying the ruins of the courtyard they stood in while she considered how to voice what she was feeling.

“Ever since we started this journey, ever since you helped me become ‘Saskia the Dragonslayer’, I’ve realized how lonely it can be. I spend so much time trying to embody the ideals and values that I wish to share with others that I sometimes forget what it’s like to be me, the normal me. Not that I’m pretending or that I believe in these things any less, but do you know what I mean?”

She turned to him, hoping for his understanding, and she had it. Iorveth stepped forward suddenly enough to make her step back in surprise. She backed up against the wall of the house, and he pursued her, eye confirming that they were truly alone before slipping his hands to her waist. 

“I do, I understand,” he murmured, lowering his lips to her neck and kissing down along her collarbone to the exposed part of her chest. “What you need,” he whispered against her warm skin, “is to relax.”

“Iorveth,” she spoke his name breathlessly, her chest rising against him as her fingers gently ran through his hair. “We can’t...not here.”

He growled softly in protest but let her go. She moved away from him, but not quickly enough to hide the color that had risen to her face. He could sense her almost palpable tension, her sweet and earnest desire, and knowing she felt as he did was enough. He paced through the courtyard slowly, letting his own arousal subside. At last she rejoined him, inclining her head towards the road. 

“I should get back.”

“Of course.”

“I...perhaps I could visit you again sometime soon?”

“Anytime you desire, elaine Saskia.”

She nodded gratefully and favored him with one last smile before they returned, together, to the road. They parted ways, and Iorveth raised a hand to wish her well.

“Enjoy your lectures,” he grinned. 

She chuckled and waved in farewell, turning up the road towards the town hall while he turned towards the human enclave. The others were finishing up their repairs when he returned, and the house looked surprisingly inhabitable once more. Eislenir regarded him thoughtfully as Iorveth clambered up onto the house’s low roof to help Brenswyck patch a hole.

“How fares the Queen? She seems ill at ease.”

“She worries,” Iorveth replied, eyeing Brenswyck warily as the younger elf began to awkwardly hammer the makeshift patch to the roof. “More rumors of war in the South.”

Eislenir pondered his answer and nodded. “She is wise to think of it. I fear we may see enemy scouts in the area soon.”

“Agreed, which is why I plan to do some scouting of my own while you work on repairing the walls.”

Eislenir made a noise of concern, and Iorveth peered at her over the edge of the roof. “What? Speak your mind.”

“Do you think it wise to go alone?”

Iorveth grinned, “I see. You’re trying to weasel out of the walls.”

“I’m not!”

“You are,” he laughed. “Unfortunately, I think your stalwart leadership is needed here to keep these lazy bastards in line.”

“A’baethe arse,” she cursed him sourly.. 

Brenswyck completed his task, and they leapt from the roof, stepping back from the house to admire their amateur but acceptable handiwork. Iorveth nodded his thanks to the others and departed, heading back to his small home on the far side of Vergen to retrieve his armor, cloak, and weapons. 

It was well into the afternoon by the time he made his way out of Vergen’s gates, and he estimated just a couple of precious hours until nightfall. Fortunately, he knew the way very well, and Iorveth moved quickly, clambering up the steep hills and into the forested terrain that overlooked the Pontar Valley. The harpies circled high overhead, many of them familiar enough with his outline to know better than to swoop in close. Iorveth tended to use them for target practice, and he rarely missed an opportunity to use his bow. Nevertheless, he kept his eye on them, lest any decide to get brave. 

He made his way in a wide arc, traipsing through the wilderness in happy solitude. It felt good to stretch his limbs and warm his muscles, and the fresh air brushed away at the built-up restlessness that city life inspired. At every good vantage point, he climbed a tree, more for the joy he found in scraping his palms and bruising his legs than out of necessity. He even took the time to gather some roots that he could roast later when he returned home. 

It was dusk when he finally began to head back to Vergen, his mood markedly elevated. A storm was rolling in, and the clouds above were heavy with impending rain. It was as he descended the hills towards the road that he saw it, the flickering light of a distant campfire sitting close to the bank of the Pontar. Iorveth paused, keen eye scouring for signs of movement. From here, it could see two of them seated at the fire and a third scrounging about in the nearby shrubs, maybe foraging. They were soldiers, certainly - the light of the fire glinted off their armor - but whose? He circled around to the side of their camp and approached, his footsteps silent from numerous decades of practice. Though he still could not make out the design of their insignias, they spoke the Common Tongue. Iorveth watched them warily, picking up as much from their conversations as he was able from his distance. He was certain they were an isolated unit - there was no way any army could pass so close to Vergen without being noticed - but he itched to know what brought them here. Perhaps they were spies?

They don’t look like spies - too moronic. Indeed, nothing at all stood out about them, other than the fact that they were here, seemingly alone, loudly groaning about the weather. The scrounger was wandering further and further from camp, getting bolder with every step in his desire to find food before the storm became a problem. Iorveth trailed him until he was a good distance from the fire, far enough to kill without disrupting the others if need be. As the soldier crawled about amongst some bushes on hands on knees, Iorveth crept up behind him and placed the edge of his sword beneath the man’s exposed throat. 

“Not a word, filthy dh’oine, or I’ll gut you and leave you for the wolves.”

The man froze in alarm and instantly opened his mouth to shout. Iorveth struck him hard across the side of his head, and the soldier dropped to the ground, unconscious. It was no easy feat dragging the overweight, armored human even further from the camp, but he did so, insistent on finding out more information. The rain began to fall, making the going even more difficult as dry ground turned to mud. Cursing under his breath, Iorveth dragged the man into a small, sheltered outcropping of rock in the side of the hill. Clothes soaked through from the rain, he shoved the unconscious soldier to the ground and paused to catch his breath, but a snapping twig alerted him that they were not alone. Iorveth drew his sword and spun with a snarl, ready to gut the other dh’oine that must have followed him. 

“Voe’rle, Iorveth, it’s me!”

She held up her hands in surrender, eyes staring widely at Iorveth’s blade, which was inches from her stomach. 

“Eislenir? What the fuck are you doing out here?” He lowered his weapon, eye roving over the terrain behind her for signs of any others, but she was alone.

“I came looking for you. I-it was late. I thought something bad might have happened and was worried.”

“Needlessly.”

The soldier groaned and shifted slightly in the dirt, finally beginning to come around. Iorveth regarded Eislenir closely, annoyed at her for disobeying his orders and following him into the wilderness, but conflicted. Her help could be useful, especially if the other dh’oine started prowling about.

“Since you’re here, stand guard and keep your eyes open. There were two other dh’oine with this one in a camp about a half a mile from here.”

“There’s two more in the area as well. I think they were trying to hunt.”

“Watch for them. I have some questions for this one.”

The she-elf nodded and disappeared from the alcove, drawing her bow as she left. Iorveth turned to the rousing soldier who was slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position, one hand clutching feebly at the side of his head. The dh’oine blinked at him stupidly, thoughts still muddled from the blow Iorveth had struck.

“Who...who’re you?”

Iorveth swept his arms out to his sides, sword still in hand. “The Merry Fucking Princess of the Woods - who are you?”

“Nobody.” The soldier reached for his knife at his belt, but his fingers grasped air. Iorveth patted the new weapon at his waist. 

“It’s a nice knife for a nobody. Think I’ll keep it. You and your friends, you’re missing banners or insignias, and you’re awfully close to my home without an invitation to show for it - so I’ll ask you again. Who are you?” He pointed his sword towards the soldier’s throat, eye gleaming dangerously in the flash of lightning that momentarily illuminated the alcove.

“We-we really is nobodies. We were soldiers, for King Henselt. For Kaedwen. But no more, we’re done with all that. We’s heading south, getting the fuck away from this war. Kaedwen’s done for. Radovid’ll soon see to that.”

Iorveth studied the man suspiciously, “What do you mean?”

“Radovid, he’s rallying ‘is army and cutting down anyone who stands in ‘is path. Talk is he plans to take over as much of the north as he can to stand against Nilfgaard! A great northern empire, that’s what he wants. At least, that’s what King Henselt says.”

“So, you’re bloede deserters and cowards,” Iorveth sneered, pressing the tip of his blade to the man’s throat. “The question is, who should I send you and your mates back to for my reward? No doubt Radovid would happily burn you on some pyre. But Henselt, he’d take your desertion personally, maybe give me a little extra.”

The man spat at Iorveth’s feet and sneered. “Deserters or no, King Henselt wouldn’t give you a fucking copper, elf.”

Iorveth grimaced and twisted his sword, the tip of his blade raising a bead of blood at the man’s neck. “So be it. I’ll take you to someone who will show you true justice. Get up.”

“Iorveth!”

Eislenir’s alarmed voice drew him away from the seated dh’oine, out of the rocky alcove, and into the night. The four other soldiers had found them and were closing in, weapons drawn. Eislenir’s bow was drawn as well, arrow nocked, and Iorveth stepped up beside her with his sword at the ready. The Kaedweni charged forward, shouting and trudging heavily through the mud. Eislenir’s arrow dropped one of them to his knees. In one fluid motion, she reloaded her bow and sent another arrow through his left eye. She had time to shoot one final, half-aimed arrow into another soldier’s leg before the dh’oine behind them shoved himself to his feet and tackled her to the ground with a roar. 

Iorveth parried a blow from the first soldier to meet him and stepped to the side, letting the man’s momentum carry him forward. With a well-placed shove from Iorveth, he crashed to the ground as Iorveth spun away from the second attacker. As the man brought his sword down, Iorveth ducked away and drove his blade through his stomach. The first of Iorveth’s attackers was back on his feet and charging forward again. Iorveth parried one blow, another, then shoved the dh’oine back with a kick to his stomach. The man stumbled, knocked off-balance, and Iorveth darted forward to cut him down. 

The soldier that Eislenir had wounded charged forward heavily despite the arrow still sticking out of his leg. Iorveth spun around to parry, but the man was upon him. He dodged to the side and growled in pain as the edge of the soldier’s sword dragged along his left forearm, ripping through his leather glove. The man’s momentum threw them both off balance, and they fell together into the mud. Iorveth struggled to gain dominance, but the denser, more heavily-armored dh’oine shoved him to the ground, his sword lost in the mud from their fall. Iorveth cursed as the man dug his knee into his stomach and ripped his bandana away. 

“You’re dead, fucking elf! I know your ugly face. I’ll take your head back to any king I please, and he’ll make me rich, and a noble to boot! After I’m done with you, I’ll cut your friend up nice and pretty, but not before I’ve had my fun with her.” The man leaned in close, sneering. “Or maybe I’ll just beat you bloody so you can watch me.”

“Not likely, bloede dh’oine.”

Iorveth headbutted the solder in the face hard, vision splashing with bright light at the impact. It was enough to stun the human who released Iorveth to cradle his bleeding face. It was all Iorveth needed. He reached for the knife at his waist and drove it into the side of the soldier’s neck, twisting the blade as he stabbed. The man cried out horribly in alarm as Iorveth stabbed him a second time, hands slick with blood. His body slouched, and Iorveth pulled the blade free, shoving the man’s body off of him and staggering to his feet.

Eislenir was pinned to the ground. The weaponless soldier’s hands were about her neck, slowly choking her into unconsciousness despite her attempts to get free. Iorveth strode forward and kicked him viciously in the head, precisely where he had struck the man earlier. He fell to the side, and Eislenir scrambled away, gasping and clutching at her throat. The soldier looked about dumbly, taking in the carnage and finally realizing he was alone. His face was bloody from Eislenir’s defensive punches and scratches, and he squinted at them through swelling eyes. Iorveth stepped forward, lifting his sword for the last kill.

“P-please, mercy!” He held up his hands in surrender, slipping awkwardly in the mud as he attempted to scoot away.

“What for?” Iorveth snarled. “You are undeserving.”

Iorveth killed the man quickly and sheathed his sword, wiping the blood and dirt from his face in disgust. He turned to Eislenir, still crouching in the mud, and held out his hand to help her up. She accepted, fingers trembling. 

“Are you alright?”

She did not respond, wide eyes surveying the massacre around them. In silence, she retrieved her bow, wiping it clean as best she could, and slung it over her shoulder. Blood and dirt and rain covered the entire area. What had been a battlefield just minutes before was now a quiet clearing, silent except for the sound of the pouring rain and periodic rumbles of thunder.

“Are you fit to walk?”

“Yes, I think so” she rasped, looking at Iorveth at last, green eyes clouded with emotion.

“Then let’s return to Vergen. Lean on me.” 

Eislenir did as he commanded, pausing only to spit on the corpse of the last soldier they had killed, the one who had nearly killed her. They made their way back to the safety of Vergen’s walls in silence, picking their way cautiously down the rain-slick slopes. Iorveth was relieved when the flashes of lightning at last revealed their city, and he escorted Eislenir back to her home within the enclave the Scoia’tael shared. Her elven and dwarven brethren surrounded her immediately, tending to her wounds and cleaning the dirt from her skin. They were understandably full of questions, but Iorveth felt immensely weary, too drained to handle the attention of so many. 

One of the elves, Cyprius, seemed to sense Iorveth’s mood and stepped forward. “Let them rest. Our friends are in no condition to be interrogated. Iorveth, you will tell us if we are needed?”

Iorveth nodded, both in confirmation and gratitude, and took his leave. The short walk to his small shack, blissfully isolated and on the edge of town, felt incredibly far. His face hurt, a deep bruise setting in from where he had headbutted the soldier. The wound on his arm throbbed. The weariness that had crept up on him when they reached Vergen was growing with each plodding step, and he longed to sink into his bed and into unconsciousness. He breathed a sigh of relief when at last he crossed the threshold into his home, shoulders sagging. The fight, the dh’oine - it had been an ugly skirmish, but that itself was not what bothered him so deeply. Iorveth dreaded the conversation he would have with Saskia. He dreaded the look on her face when he told of her Radovid’s plans, when she realized what it meant for Vergen. It had been just a few precious weeks since they had gained their independence. Would it truly be just a few more before it all slipped away?

He removed his weapons and placed them near his bed, struggling to control the pit of anger forming in his stomach as he thought of all they had to lose. Saskia had worked so hard. He had worked so hard. To watch his brethren be made homeless once again, to revert to their nomadic lifestyle and the hatred and fear and danger that it would bring…

Iorveth was so engaged in his own thoughts he almost failed to hear her enter.


	4. Idle Hands, Part II

“You’re back,” Saskia whispered. “Iorveth, are you alright?”

Her eyes darted to the right side of his face, just for a moment before flitting away, but it was enough. Iorveth cursed under his breath and tilted the deformed side of his face away from her, reflexively checking his pockets for a bandana that he did not have. He had forgotten his had been lost in the fight. He turned away from her to find another, but gentle fingers held his arm to stop his rummaging. Saskia pushed back the hood of her cloak and looked over his new wounds. 

“The patrol at the gate told me you returned with Eislenir and that you both looked to be in bad shape. Is she alright?”

Iorveth nodded, still turned away from her. “The others are tending to her wounds. She shouldn’t have come looking for me, but I’m thankful she did.”

“And your wounds?” She tugged gently at his arm, urging him to face her. “Who will tend to those?”

“I’m fine.”

“Iorveth.” Her voice was stern. He turned to her at last and met her gaze despite his unhidden face. When she saw the weariness in his eye, her expression softened, and she pointed to a stool. “Sit down.”

He shrugged out of his long coat, tossed it aside, and obeyed, seating himself near his hearth. Saskia tended to the fire, coaxing full, warm flames out of the embers that had remained. The heat felt good, and he continued to remove his rain-soaked clothing. He peeled the ruined glove away from his left arm tentatively, taking care to not aggravate the wound. The cut was thin but deeper than he had hoped, and a mixture of blood and dirt coated his arm. Iorveth continued to undress until only his breeches remained. Saskia pulled up another stool and sat before him. She took his arm gently and set about cleaning the wound with a fire-heated cloth, a bowl of water that she had warmed, and a small bottle of alcohol. Iorveth gritted his teeth against the pain as the disinfecting alcohol did its job. She proceeded to wrap his arm in clean linen.

“Will you tell me what happened?” 

Iorveth clenched the fist of his free arm lightly, wishing he had at least the night to think about what he had learned before telling her, but there was no avoiding it. She needed to know the truth.

“I was scouting and came across an unmarked camp. One of the dh’oine wandered off, so I took him into the woods for questioning. They were Kaedweni soldiers.”

“Kaedweni?” Saskia paused and raised her brow in confusion. “Henselt has broken the terms of his surrender already?”

Iorveth shook his head, gaze lowered. “They were deserters, fleeing impending conflict between Kaedwen and Redania.”

Saskia considered his words, “I don’t understand. Redania?” Realization filled her expression, and she met Iorveth’s gaze with wide eyes. “Radovid wants to unify the Northern Kingdoms. To combat a Nilfgaardian invasion?”

Iorveth nodded, eye locked with hers, unable to look away from her despite the dread that sat within him. 

“Then, Aedirn is next,” she shook her head slowly, not wishing to accept this new truth that was suddenly inescapable. “We can’t defend against a joined Redania and Kaedwen. We barely survived Henselt’s last assault, and we haven’t had time…”

She fell into frustrated silence, her hand falling still on his arm. Iorveth drew her hand into his own, his thumb gently tracing over her soft skin.

“What will we do, Iorveth?” Her voice was quiet to hide the fear that lurked behind it. 

He considered her question for a long moment, but he had no clever answer, only the answer he had always given her during their time together. “You will survive, whatever happens, and continue to lead those who believe in you, as I do.”

Saskia thanked him with a soft smile. “This was to be our home. All of ours, together.”

“The walls haven’t fallen yet. I can recruit, as I did before we fought Henselt. I’ll bring more Scoia’tael, or anyone who will listen.”

She shook her head adamantly. “No, if we are to recruit more soldiers for Vergen, I will go myself, or we will go together. Zoltan can keep Vergen while we are away. If we are to bring more to our city, they must see who will be leading them.”

“Saskia, it isn’t safe--”

“We’re never safe. You know that as well as I. I won’t sit around, cowering behind city walls, while you and your people put yourselves in danger on my behalf.”

“That is our duty. We are to serve, you are to lead. As Queen--”

“--I will do what I believe is right. Whatever happens, I will not rule idly. Otherwise, I may as well marry Stennis, wear a pretty crown, a pretty dress, spread my legs for my king and do naught. That’s not a life I would ever willingly choose.” 

Iorveth could not help but grin at her response, ever proud of her and of his decision to help her win the crown she so deserved. 

Saskia drew her hand from his grasp and slipped out of her cloak, her tone lightening. “Besides, I’m not particularly attracted to humans. I prefer elven men.”

“Interesting. I heard from a certain witcher that you’re more interested in dwarves.”

“I lied,” Saskia tilted her chin forward defiantly, her cloak puddling at her feet. 

Saskia dampened a clean cloth and began to gently wipe the grime and caked blood from his face. Out of habit, he continued to try and turn the ruined side of his face away from her, but her fingers softly drew him back towards her. She took care around his old scar, her facing showing no sign of discomfort, but he could not help but wonder what she was thinking. He had never told her the story of how he lost his eye - he told very few people - and she had never asked. Perhaps she was afraid to ask. Perhaps she thought the story would make her think less of him. After all, while she seemed to understand a great deal about him, she had openly made it clear that she disapproved of, even detested, his methods. When she was finished, she stood and began to look through some of his belongings. 

“In the drawer, next to the bed.”

She searched where he guided her and returned with a fresh bandana. Saskia seated herself on the stool once more and drew the bandana over his ear, tying it in place as he preferred. She smoothed it over his face, fingers lingering at his lips, while her eyes sought his with a question. Iorveth studied her for a moment, suspecting he knew what she wanted, and wanting it in return. In truth, he craved her. Each night since the one they had spent together, he dreamt of her. But he was certain spending another night with her would only grow his desire for her, a dangerous craving to satisfy. 

“You should rest,” she murmured, her fingers stroking the curve of his cheekbone. 

“Perhaps.”

Iorveth reached for her and drew her into his lap. She needed little coaxing, but straddled him cautiously, mindful of his wounds and bruises. Saskia pressed her lips to his, kissing him fiercely, her hands clutching his face, and Iorveth happily surrendered to her captivating taste - always sweet, but with a metallic edge, a reminder of her wondrous and dangerous nature. She arched her back and pressed her hips down, moaning softly to find him already very aroused. Iorveth clutched her to him, his hands sneaking beneath her shirt and running along the skin of sides and back. Her nails dug into his bare shoulders, and she tilted her head back, allowing him access to her neck. Iorveth accepted, kissing and biting the delicate skin until she moaned again. 

Iorveth gripped her thighs and lifted her so that he stood with her in his arms. She immediately tightened her legs about his waist -- her heavily-lidded gaze locked with his, and she grinned, eyes gleaming with an alluring mixture of need and mischief. Iorveth felt his heartbeat quicken with exhilaration and desire, his elfhood pulsing against her in response. He was rewarded with an urgent whimper and a squeeze of her thighs. Growling with anticipation, he carried her the short distance to his small, but thankfully sturdy, table. Bracing her with one arm, he impatiently shoved aside the few dishes cluttering the surface -- they clattered to the ground. Saskia giggled at the sound, just the way she had the first night they spent together, and he grinned in response, nipping gently at her ear as he lowered her to the table. 

Her nails trailed through his hair as he continued to kiss her ear, her neck, the top of her breast. “You should rest,” she breathed the sentiment again, and he chuckled against her skin.

“I will rest, and peacefully, when my Queen is pleased.”

She moaned, though Iorveth was unsure of whether it was in response to his words or to his fingers, which pressed firmly against the heat between her legs through her clothing. Her hips arched against his touch, seeking more. He drew away long enough to coax her tunic off of her body, his fingers sliding gently along the soft skin of her stomach, up along her breasts, and down her arms as he tossed her clothing aside. Her chest heaved with anticipation, and Saskia reached down between her legs to touch herself. Iorveth gently caught her wrist and pinned her arm at her side, his fingers twining with hers. 

“Allow me,” the fingers of his free hand deftly worked at the laces of her trousers, tugging them loose. With her help, they removed what remained of her clothing.

Iorveth released her hand and knelt between her legs, guiding her thighs to rest on his shoulders. She shifted on the table, her body language revealing uncertainty, perhaps nervousness. He ran his fingers along the outsides of her thighs slowly, wondering not for the first what all she had experienced. From their first night together, Iorveth suspected that Saskia was no stranger to intimate behaviors, however, there were times when she seemed at a loss, even wary. 

“I-Iorveth, you don’t have to--ah!”

He pressed his tongue to her, tasting her for the first time, and she arched her back sharply in response. Her fingers closed on his shoulder and unwounded forearm, nails pressing into his skin, and she moaned softly as he began to explore her. He minded her noises, the pressure of her touch, the arching of her back until he was certain of what she liked best. His tongue worked her steadily, patiently, as her soft moans rose to panting cries, then fell to focused silence as her body braced. His fingers pressed into her hips and he groaned with pleasure as her back arched sharply once more, her nails scrabbling against the table as she reached her shuddering peak, a shaky cry of ecstasy breaking her silence. Her thighs pressed him tightly, holding him in place as if afraid he might draw away - he would never dare. Iorveth kissed her warmth gently, riding through the waves of her pleasure with her until she fell still, her chest heaving with her quickened breaths. 

After a few moments, her legs loosened their grip, and he stood, leaning over her on the table to kiss upwards over her torso and along the smooth curve of her breasts. Saskia gave a soft, breathless laugh, a lovely blush slowly receding from her face. 

“I, ah...no one’s ever…,” she propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. He met her gaze with a grin, his teeth gently closing around one of her nipples. Saskia shuddered and hummed softly with delight. “You’re very good at this.”

Iorveth groaned against her skin, his pride and arousal both rising at her words. “Stay a bit longer,” he requested as he slipped his arms around her, his bare chest pressed against hers. 

As acknowledgement, Saskia slid her fingers through his hair and gently pulled him upwards towards her, her lips seeking his. He met her kiss fiercely, moaning softly with pleasure as her nails trailed down his chest and torso and gasping with surprise as one hand slipped downward between his legs. Iorveth pressed eagerly into her hand for a moment, then drew away to hurriedly undo and kick aside his trousers. Saskia watched him undress with a crooked grin of delight. Once freed, she extended a hand to him again and gripped him firmly, biting her lower lip with anticipation as he pulsed in response to her touch. She guided him towards her and pressed her wet warmth against him with a buck of her hips. Iorveth happily followed her lead and stepped close, his hands pulling to the very edge of the table.

He aligned himself with her patiently, just beginning to press himself into her warmth, and lowered himself onto forearms above her. Her eyes locked with his, wide and shining with desire in the firelight. 

“Iorveth,” she whispered his name urgently, almost pleadingly, and he obeyed her unspoken command.

He pressed into her slowly, groaning at the dizzying pleasure uniting with Saskia brought. Her muscles gave way to him slowly, surrounding him with her warmth, and she pressed her hips upwards to meet his thrust. She gasped as he filled her and pressed her nails into his back and her face against his neck. Iorveth paused, taking time to enjoy the sensation of being within her, and drew himself away from her only when she squeezed him, urging him to continue. He thrust into her again, and again, more rapidly and with a little more pressure. Saskia moaned with delight, eyes closing as she met each thrust with her own. As their pace became more urgent, Iorveth gently guided her legs upwards and over his shoulders. He pressed her legs forward, increasing the pressure for both of them even more. As he thrust into her again, he watched her face closely to make certain that the position was comfortable for her. Her furrowed brow, deliciously-parted lips, and sharper cries of pleasure confirmed that it was, and Iorveth continued eagerly. 

As the tension grew and her muscles grew tighter with anticipation, Saskia forced herself up onto her elbows to better see him and to watch his movements into her. Her response drove Iorveth’s arousal to impossible new heights, and he urged himself to refocus to keep from losing control. Saskia seemed to sense his closeness and opened her eyes, a wicked glint filling her gaze and somehow making her beautiful, flushed face even more lovely. She pushed herself upwards off of her elbows so that she was nearly sitting upright, her weight balanced on her palms pressed against the table. Iorveth gripped her waist tightly and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers as they drew closer and closer. 

Iorveth slipped one hand between her legs to just above where they were joined, thumb pressing firmly. Saskia cried out in surprise, her head falling back in surrender as she let him coax her towards her climax. Iorveth drew his free arm around her waist and pulled her as close as he was able, thrusting into her hard. Saskia moaned and arched her back as her release took her. Her muscles clenched him tightly, and Iorveth soon followed her, gasping with pleasure as her contracting body matched the waves of his own release. 

As the ripples of intense pleasure began to subside, Saskia slowly lowered herself back to her forms, then lay fully on her back, her soft moans receding to sp/weet pants. Pleasantly lightheaded, Iorveth followed her lead but remained within her, not eager to part. Saskia wrapped her arms about him, fingers tracing patterns along his smooth skin, into his arm, along the side of his face. They lay still together for some time, comfortable in their joint relief, until at last Saskia pressed her fingers into his shoulder. Iorveth pushed himself upright and withdrew from her slowly. 

Wordlessly, Saskia sat up, offered him a warm smile, and set about finding her clothes and beginning to dress. Iorveth pulled on his own trousers and sank down onto one of the stools by the fire, content to watch her get dressed since it was clear she had no intention of staying. Her hair had fallen out from the tied-up position she typically kept it in, and the golden waves fell about her shoulders and down her back, glinting like deep honey in the firelight. The last item she retrieved was her cloak. She pulled the garment on but left the hood off to bid him farewell. Iorveth waited patiently as she faced him, many thoughts seeming to cross her mind until she finally settled on one. 

“Iorveth, would...I’d like you to speak to the council tomorrow morning. The information you learned, you were there and saw it all firsthand. I’d like the people of Vergen to hear it from you. If not for you, we might never have known about Radovid’s schemes until too late. We all owe you and Eislenir for your bravery. Will you speak to the council?”

He was admittedly surprised by her proposal. As much as she trusted him when they were alone, he had not expected her to request him to speak to her council, predominantly dh’oine, as an equal. Iorveth considered what she had asked for a moment, then nodded. Saskia smiled and gave a nod of thanks. 

“Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

She stepped towards him and bowed forward to kiss him one last time. Iorveth’s eyes closed as he concentrated on the moment: her scent, her taste, the feeling of her soft lips on his. Then, she parted, pulling up the hood of her cloak and marching for the door in her decisive way. She paused in the doorway, just for a moment, as if she would give voice to one more thought. Instead, she thought better of it and turned away, drawing his door shut behind her as she disappeared into the night. 

Iorveth began to gather up his own clothing, once more keenly aware of his own exhaustion and eager for the comfort of his bed. Amongst his clothing he found a long, white and red cloth. It was Saskia’s, the bandana she used to tie back her hair. Iorveth clutched the cloth in his hand, a foolish feeling of sentimentality washing over him as he caught her scent from it. Shaking away the thoughts and feelings her scent inspired, Iorveth tucked the cloth away in a pocket, resolving to return it to her on the morrow. 

As his fire crackled low, Iorveth fell into his bed, sleep shying away for some time as he thought about Saskia’s invitation, the council, what he would say, the message he wished to convey. He tossed aside his bandana, grimacing slightly as his fingers brushed the bruise rising on his face from where he had headbutted the dh’oine soldier. Eventually, his thoughts began to blur together, and his eye drifted shut, his dreams heavy with worry over Vergen’s fate and the inevitable battles and struggles to come.


	5. Many Roads, Many Faces, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth discloses news of Radovid’s impending invasion to Vergen’s Council. Saskia and Iorveth leave Vergen to recruit stragglers to their cause.

The sky over Vergen was bright and clear, a sharp contrast to the storm that had swept over the Pontar Valley the night before. There was a quiet, pleasant hum in the air as the city’s citizens went about their mornings, eagerly collecting the rainfall that had gathered in various pails and bins and bringing it into their homes. Iorveth leaned against the inner wall of the Castle of the Three Fathers, arms crossed over his chest and eye steadily roving over the scene outside through the large gaps in the stone hallway. An older dh’oine woman was struggling to lift a tub of water. A passing group of Aen Seidhe saw her and hesitated, speaking quietly amongst themselves. Two of them broke away from the group to help, and together they hauled the sloshing tub into the woman’s home. They emerged a moment later with a couple of fresh biscuits as tokens of gratitude. It was a simple interaction, but meaningful. Perhaps it was a touch of optimism or a case of him seeing what he wished to see, but Iorveth felt that he noticed these small acts more frequently as of late. If so, it was a healthy sign of community for Vergen and a testament to Saskia’s dream. Life in Upper Aedirn was not an easy one, but it was survivable if it could be struggled through together with no social classes, no differences in wealth or status to separate human from dwarf from elf. 

Voices droned within the War Council’s meeting room as Saskia’s advisors discussed routine business. Iorveth was not certain what to expect from this meeting nor did he know how the Council might react to his presence. The last time he stood before them was when Saskia had introduced him and announced his Scoia’tael’s participation in the fight for Vergen’s independence. The reaction was overwhelmingly negative initially, but Saskia had fearlessly defended her choice to accept the aid of the dangerous elven commander and his archers. Her words had cowed the majority of the Council, and Iorveth had eagerly stepped up to defend Saskia and her free city. The fight against Henselt was bloody, but successful. After their journey to Loc Muinne and Geralt’s of Rivia’s lifting of Saskia’s curse, Iorveth and his Aen Seidhe were accepted as citizens of Vergen, though Iorveth’s invitation had been tentative. Nevertheless, Iorveth was offered and accepted a small home, as did many of his comrades. Those that did not preferred to stay in a larger building together, as they were accustomed to living in close quarters with each other. Since then, his brothers and sisters had adjusted reasonably well to their new, domestic life. Iorveth had seen genuine Aen Seidhe smiles, heard their laughs, for the first time in many years.

No one will take that away from us again.

There was rustling within the Council’s chambers, and a moment later, one of the massive doors swung open to reveal Cecil Burdon’s ever-serious countenance peering out into the hallway. Iorveth turned his head and awaited the dwarf’s word. 

“Queen Saskia requests your presence. The Council awaits.”

Iorveth nodded and pushed away from the wall, a sudden touch of nerves gripping him within, though his expression remained neutral. Saskia was granting him another chance by inviting him to speak before the Council, another opportunity to modify his name and reputation in the eyes of Vergen’s leaders and its people. No quick action or small amount of time could erase the things Iorveth had done, nor would he willingly erase them if he was given the choice, but Iorveth treasured the chance to be more than what he was now to so many. For countless years, Iorveth had been what he needed to be. Perhaps now it was finally time for him to be something new. 

He stepped through the low, dwarven entryway and into the meeting hall, eyes adjusting to the dimness of the firelight compared to the shining sun outside. Saskia sat directly across from and facing the doorway, and her eyes met his as he followed Cecil into the room. She nodded her head in greetings, and the rest of the Council turned their collective gaze to him in response. Iorveth silently circled the table until he stood behind Saskia, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for her command. His eye roamed calmly over the faces turned towards him; several of them looked skeptical of his presence, but surprisingly, most of them only looked at him with drawn, weary faces, as though they already had an idea of what news he brought them. Word’s already begun to spread. 

“Friends, I invited Iorveth here today to speak to you regarding the information he learned firsthand during a scouting trip last night outside of Vergen’s walls. Iorveth, please tell us what transpired yesterday.”

As Iorveth recounted the events of the previous evening, the already grim air within the meeting hall grew grimmer still. The Council members listened patiently, asking few questions and casting their eyes at one another pensively. When at last he told them of Radovid’s alleged plan to unite the Northern Realms by force, several whispers broke out as Saskia’s advisors began to speculate on what this would mean for Upper Aedirn. When Iorveth finished, Saskia nodded and spoke up over the din as whispering speculation began to build to loud arguments. 

“Thank you, Iorveth. Is Eislenir well?” She turned her head to face him.

“I believe so. I plan to visit her after leaving here.”

“Please send her my gratitude and let me know if there is anything she needs from us.”

“Thank you, my Queen.”  
For a moment, Iorveth was certain he caught a glimmer of pleasure in Saskia’s eye. Perhaps she was recalling the last time he had addressed her that way and what he had done to her shortly afterwards. Or, perhaps it was wishful thinking. Saskia cleared her throat lightly, almost inaudibly, then gestured towards a vacant chair next to Zoltan Chivay and a few seats away from where she sat. 

“Join us, Iorveth, as we discuss what our next steps will be.” 

He hesitated, surprised at her invitation. Apparently a few other Council members were equally surprised, as a lull fell over the room and several pairs of eyes flicked from her to him. Saskia felt no reason to explain herself, and Iorveth obeyed her command, taking the seat she had directed him to. Zoltan nodded to him in greetings, a gesture Iorveth warily returned.

“As you all know, we Vergen is in no shape for another battle,” Saskia cast her steely gaze around the table, her face stoic. “Although we cannot know for certain how quickly to expect the Redanian host at our gates, nor can we know exactly how big of an army we may face, one thing is certain: we must waste no time preparing ourselves in every way we are able. We have accomplished a great deal already, and I am immensely proud of every citizen within these walls. We must not let all that we have worked for be taken from us, not by Radovid, not by Nilfgaard, not by anyone. Vergen may be young. Our streets may yet be unfinished and our fields just beginning to take root, but we are a proud city, and we will fight tooth and nail to keep what we took with our own blood. The Pontar Valley belongs to us all, and we will continue to live as we have chosen to. No one will put a leash around our necks ever again.”

A dh’oine noble whose name Iorveth did not know shook his head and gave a terse, doubtful laugh. “A nice sentiment, Saskia, but how can we hope to defend ourselves if Radovid is successful? With just Kaedwen behind him, his army would be fearsome. What if he were to take Temeria as well? What hope would we have to withstand him? Who would be left to join our army? Who would want to?”

Iorveth did not particularly care for the man’s tone. The nobleman looked around the room, hands spread to invite an answer from anyone who could provide one. When the dh’oine looked to Iorveth, he held the man’s gaze fiercely and leaned forward in his chair. 

“Ayd f’haeil moen Hirjeth taenverde.”

The nobleman’s eyes grew wide as if Iorveth had insulted the man’s mother or perhaps murdered his firstborn child in front of him. 

“What did you say?”

“Conquer with courage rather than strength,” Saskia answered for him.

“Exactly,” Iorveth reclined in his chair but continued to watch the dh’oine until he finally averted his gaze. 

Saskia considered Iorveth’s words pensively, her fingers drumming lightly against the massive table they sat around as ideas flicked through her mind. She was a quick learner, an impressive speaker, adept at rallying those around her, and she was an ever-growing strategist. With just a little time, she would be a fearsome leader and a beloved queen. All she needed was the chance, Iorveth knew, and he would be damned if Radovid would steal that from her.

“Iorveth’s right. We don’t need the biggest army to withstand Radovid. In fact, we’d be foolish to try. What we need is a fortress in which we can weather the storm, as well as the supplies necessary to stock it.”

Zoltan hummed and stroked his beard thoughtfully, “So, you’re sayin’ we prepare for a siege. Nilfgaard is Radovid’s true target. Upper Aedirn is small and not densely populated, practically an afterthought in Radovid’s wee mind when compared to the likes of Kaedwen and Temeria, even the rest of Aedirn. You think if Vergen proves too tedious to crack that Radovid will lose interest and move on.”

“I think it’s our best chance,” Saskia nodded. “We will still recruit - we’ll use all of the resources we can get our hands on - but we should focus on fortification, on building our city, rather than building an army. The Pontar Valley is home to farmers, smiths, merchants, craftsmen. A city needs all of those, not simply soldiers. Let’s find them and bring them home.”

Cecil looked doubtful. “The Pontar Valley and surrounding forests are teeming with resources. Should Radovid decide to commit to the siege, his soldiers could live off of the nearby farmlands alone, not to mention hunt the forests, fish in our streams…”

“Which is why we must take it all first and burn the rest. We must make the Pontar Valley as inhospitable as we can, not just for Redanian soldiers but for any army that may turn our way. We must begin harvesting all that we can, and quickly. Anything we cannot take within miles of Vergen, we will destroy.”

“In the meantime, we Aen Seidhe can begin digging spike pits and assembling traps around the perimeter so that anyone approaching the city without our knowledge will run into more than a few unpleasant surprises,” Iorveth turned to Saskia. “I will lead the effort personally.”

“A good idea, and I appreciate your offer, Iorveth, but you’ll need to find another to lead the Aen Seidhe on this project. Iorveth and I will lead the scouting party. We leave this afternoon. Our objective will be to gather more recruits and support from the surrounding areas.”

Iorveth’s look of surprise ebbed as Saskia explained her plan, but his surprise seemed to diffuse to the rest of the Council. The sputtering dh’oine looked to be on the verge of a stroke.

“S-Saskia, be reasonable. You are needed here, not wandering about the woods with this vagrant. Look, even now, he stares at me like a mad dog.”

“I wonder why,” Saskia rubbed her temples in annoyance.

“Saskia--”

“Silence,” her fist fell from her temple to the tabletop with a sharp crack. Her usually warm eyes turned steely cold as she stared the man down. “Sir Nyles, you have as much a right to be here, expressing your opinion as any, and I thank you for your input. But we’ve heard your opinion already, and we’ve no need to go over it again. Iorveth and his Aen Seidhe know the area outside of Vergen well, so he will attend me. If you have any further concerns as to why I have asked Iorveth to be here, we can discuss them at another time. Yarpen, I ask that you join me as well, along with any others you choose to bring. Sir Nyles, you are welcome to join or to send another in your place if you wish. Otherwise, I will represent our human citizens. In my stead, Zoltan will oversee Vergen’s military preparations while I am away. Cecil will handle all administrative operations. If there are no other questions, we leave at noon.”

Her eyes swept over the silent table, waiting for objections, but none came. At last, her gaze settled on the cowed Sir Nyles, and when their eyes met, he looked down and nodded in consent. 

“Good. Dismissed. Those of you in the scouting party, meet at Vergen’s main gate before noon. Thank you all for your time.”

Chairs scraped against the stone floor as the Council departed, perhaps a little too quickly. Besides Saskia, Iorveth was the last to leave. She stood, palms flat on the table, thinking deeply about what had transpired. He wished to alleviate her worries, tell her that she did the right thing, but now was not the time. Instead, he left the hall quietly and began to make his way back to the Aen Seidhe’s district. He passed a glum-faced Nyles on the way, and for a moment it seemed as though the dh’oine would speak to him, but the man thought better of it and let Iorveth pass without a word. All the better - he had little time enough as it was to prepare before midday.

His brethren were abuzz when he returned, and they gathered to him as he entered the large, stone building that most used as a common living space. Cyprius stepped forward to greet him, his dark eyes glittering with curiosity. Eislenir stood beside him. The two had been spending much more time together of late, Iorveth noticed, and Cyprius had been the first to come to Eislenir’s aid the night before. What was more, they were beginning to show the tell-tale signs of a bonded pair. Though he wished to ask more, there were more pressing matters to attend to. 

“Brenswyck says he saw you at the Castle of the Three Fathers this morning. Did you speak before the Council?”

“I did,” his eye roved over the eagerly-listening faces. “Saskia has asked me to join her, Yarpen, and a few others on a scouting party to scour the Pontar Valley for those who wish to join us here in Vergen. We leave at noon.”

Eislenir immediately stepped forward, “I will come with you.”

“You will stay and recover, and then you will report to Cecil Burdon for direction. There’s a great deal of work to be done, and I need you here to oversee it.”

She was not pleased with his answer, but she chose not to argue. Instead, she left the room, and Cyprius followed close behind. Iorveth looked to those that remained.

“The rest of you will do as Eislenir commands while I am away. We won’t be gone long, but if there is trouble, go to Zoltan, and he will help.”

His directions were met with nods of assent, as they always were. Only strong-willed Eislenir ever questioned him, and it was always with reason. Iorveth left quickly and made his way home to gather supplies and prepare for their journey. He gathered weapons and provisions and traded his civilian clothing for his armor and long coat. As he finished gathering his belongings, he turned his head to a soft knock at his door. 

“Here to argue on Eislenir’s behalf?”

Cyprius lingered in the doorway, his loose, long dark hair falling about his somber face. He was a handsome elf, intelligent and quiet, far more reserved than Eislenir. Yet he had a persuasive demeanor, and his soft-spoken manner was met with attention when he did choose to speak. 

“No. Eislenir does not disagree with you, though she of course would prefer to travel with you. She respects your decision.” He paused, shifting his weight as he thought of what he wished to say. “I wanted to thank you. For considering her well-being, and for protecting her yesterday.”

Iorveth stopped what he was doing and turned to face the other elf. “Unnecessary. I protected her as I would protect any one of you.”

Cyprius nodded, “I know. However, she is the one I care for most. At any rate, I came here to ask to join the scouting party myself. I would like to get to know the terrain better, and I believe I could help persuade others to join our cause.”

Iorveth considered his request briefly, then nodded. “Agreed. Meet me at the gate as soon as you are able.”

“Thank you, brother.”

Cyprius left quickly to sort out his own affairs. Iorveth looked about his humble home for a moment, determining whether or not he should take anything else. When he felt confident and prepared, he departed for the gate, eager for the voyage ahead.

\- - - - -

As promised, they departed right at midday, but even this did not seem quickly enough for Saskia. She was waiting even before Iorveth arrived, clad in full armor and pacing at the gate. Much to Iorveth’s displeasure, she had brought horses and insisted that they ride to make better time. He was able to do it, but he despised it - Iorveth had always felt that riding atop a horse was incredibly uncomfortable, both for himself and for the steed. Nevertheless, he bit his tongue and mounted, him, Cyprius, and Saskia on their own horses, and the dwarves on smaller ponies. They started off quickly and soon left Vergen behind them, trading stone walls for trees and hilly terrain. 

The uneasy mood that Saskia had been in dissipated almost as soon as they were out of view of the city, the open air seeming to whisk away her worries. Iorveth watched her ride from companion to companion, trading jests and chatting, her golden hair shining in the sun as she tossed her head back in laughter at a particularly raunchy joke made by Yarpen. Saskia had the makings of a truly good ruler, but, in truth, she was a capricious and light-hearted soul; it made handling the mundate, toxic minutiae of politics difficult for her, Iorveth knew. There were times when she longed to be free. 

They followed the Pontar east, sticking to the beaten path with eyes on the surrounding areas, both for potential recruits and for bandits or other signs of trouble. Iorveth and Cyprius searched for signs of Aen Seidhe, as the elf encampments would likely not be found close to the road as the human villages would. Their efforts were met with a great deal of suspicion, but they claimed more recruits than Iorveth had expected them to. As they passed from village to village, it was clear that the Kaedweni deserters Iorveth had met were not the first to move through the area. Radovid was moving quickly. What was more, many of the humans they encountered had already heard Saskia’s name, and more than a few were genuinely excited to see her in person. They gathered about her horse as they rode amongst the crumbling houses, their fingers reaching out to touch her as if to confirm she was real. Some were distracted enough by Saskia to pay no heed to her companions, and Iorveth received surprisingly few curses and mistrustful glares. 

As night fell, they made camp near the Pontar’s bank, their numbers a bit greater than they had been when they started out, and new faces sat around the campfires, all sharing the food they had scraped together. One of the dh’oine managed to fell a deer in the woods, and most were happily feasting on roast venison, though Iorveth and Cyprius were instead sharing a loaf of bread and some berries they had found, a detail not missed by Yarpen. The dwarf watched them eat, his dark eyes narrow with suspicion above his charred chunk of deer meat.

“How d’you stay in yer saddles or lift yer arms to swing your swords if all ye eat is plants and oats?”

“Elf magic,” another dwarf jested, chuckling. He spread his arms to the sky, drink sloshing from his cup. “The earth sustains them!”

“That’s why ye don’t see little elven babes running around,” Yarpen concluded, his eyes wide at his realization. “Meat is what makes a man’s loins hard, virile,” he shook his heavy fist in the air for emphasis. “Ye must bore your women to tears. That’s why all the elven lasses find dwarven beds to warm!”

The dwarves laughed raucously, jumping up to demonstrate their sexual prowess by hooting and thrusting their hips at the empty air. Iorveth glanced at Saskia and caught her staring thoughtfully at him. He grinned lopsidedly, hoping she was reminiscing on his bed and how very entertained she was while lying in it. It seemed his hopes were well-founded, as she sat up a little straighter in surprise at his smile, and looked away quickly, the faintest blush rising to her cheeks. Thankfully, the dwarves were too caught up in their mating impressions to notice their exchange.

“Aen Seidhe women in your beds? I haven’t even seen dwarven women around your homes,” Iorveth drawled. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen a single dwarven woman in Vergen. You must have scared them all off with your...virility.”

The dwarves ignored his comment, content to continue with their half-drunken jesting. Saskia laughed softly, reclining back on the palms of her hands as she soaked in the warmth of the fire. She looked as lovely as ever, if not moreso, somehow. Her armor shone fiercely in the firelight, as did her dark, blue eyes. As the dwarves began to settle, too full of alcohol to keep at their shenanigans for long, she pushed herself up to her feet.

“Well, I believe it’s time for me to retire to my tent for the evening. I thank you all for your company. To those of us just joining us, we welcome you deeply and sincerely. I look forward to getting to know you and helping to make our city your city.”

Her words were met with warmth and gratitude, and she offered them one last smile before vanishing into her tent. Iorveth longed to join her, but his desires would have to go unsated. Soon after Saskia’s departure, the others began to leave for their tents and sleeping spaces as well. Only the Aen Seidhe chose to sleep under the stars with no tent to cover them. Some of the others had offered Iorveth a place in their own tents, but Iorveth looked forward to the chance to spend the night in the cool, crisp air. He was grateful for his cozy home behind Vergen’s walls, but he found that he often missed nights like these, spent around a campfire and under the open sky. 

While the others settled down to sleep, Iorveth decided to walk the camp’s perimeter to ensure its safety. Once this was done, he could not help but wander a little further, his feet carrying him closer to the Pontar’s shore where he strolled in silence, his gaze spanning outward over the river’s calm waters. Iorveth found a secluded spot amongst the reeds and sat upon a flat rock, closing his eye to take in the numerous and varied sounds of the night. An owl called out somewhere not so far away. The repetitive droning of insects pulsed and waned and pulsed again. A symphony of small frogs carried clearly over the water. And, somewhere closer still, the sound of soft, sneaking footsteps drew near.


	6. Many Roads, Many Faces, Part II

“You should be resting,” he teased, echoing her words from the previous night. 

Her scent was unmistakable, as much a part of his memory of her now as her name, her face. Saskia laughed softly, her voice travelling out over the water and for a single, sweet moment drowning out all other sounds. Iorveth grinned. He turned his head to greet her and for a moment was rendered speechless. Her heavy armor was gone, replaced by a simple, long tunic that reached her thighs, a thin belt about her waist, heeled boots, and nothing else. Her golden hair was free and wild, and it shone wondrously in the moonlight.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked foolishly, wide-eyed and admittedly stunned by her beauty. 

She laughed again and drew closer, “Never. May I join you?”

“Of course,” Iorveth scrambled to the side to make space for her on the rock, snapping out of his stunned state. She pulled herself up and offered him a warm smile of thanks as she sat. “Is anything the matter?”

“No. I simply wanted to be with you.” She stared out across the Pontar in silence. She looked serene, content, Iorveth noted. “It’s beautiful out here.”

“It is,” he agreed, but in truth he preferred to look at her. 

She sensed his attention and grinned, lowering her gaze for a moment while she considered what to say next. Iorveth had been certain she had not sought him out to idly pass the time - there was something on her mind. He did not press her. There was no need to. He waited in silence while she prepared her thoughts, lying back on the smooth stone to gaze into the sky. They were far enough from the city and smoke from the countless battles that seemed to be inevitably closing in around them - every star in the cloudless sky was perfectly clear. He closed his eye as his thoughts were inevitably drawn back to everything that awaited them. The uncertainty, the building conflict of the North, the terror mobilizing in the South. At times, their path seemed hopeless, but there was no other choice, not for him or for her. All they could do was steel themselves as best they could for what was to come, and try. And so long as Saskia remained at the front of it all, Iorveth knew he would do just that.

“On the road today, Cyprius and I spoke for some time. He spoke a great deal about Eislenir, his feelings for her. It was interesting.”

“How so?”

Saskia did not respond. Iorveth’s eye opened, and he propped himself up onto his elbows to better see her. She would not look at him. Instead, her eyes were intensely trained on the horizon, her lips posed on the verge of a coy smile as if treasuring some secret. His brow furrowed in confusion. Saskia was rarely shy, if ever, and he could not be certain if she was even being modest now. Instead, it seemed as though she was teasing him.

“Tell me,” he urged in a growl, growing wary at her silence.

“He told me...of Aen Seidhe mating habits.” Saskia turned her head at last and locked her gaze with his. “He told me that your people typically mate for life, become bonded pairs.”

Iorveth’s eye widened slightly - of all the topics he had expected her to broach with Cyprius, he would not have guessed this one. 

“That’s true. Or, it was. The practice is less common now.”

“Why?”

“It’s impractical. Many Aen Seidhe die well before reaching the later stages of their lives, whether in battle or at the hands of some racist lout, perhaps even a crowd of them. Forming a bonded pair creates a deep connection, more than just emotional. It’s akin to a dependency. The pair becomes inseparable. And if one of the pair happens to be killed before the other...”

Iorveth shrugged, not needing to illustrate the rest. The smile left Saskia’s lips as she considered his words. She looked away once more, eyes pensive.

“Dragons are much more like the opposite,” she reflected. “From what I learned, they mate and part ways shortly after. Dragons are...independent, inclined towards solitude. But I couldn’t say whether it’s because they can’t bond with one another or they prefer not to try.”

Iorveth listened to her thoughts, studying her expression as she spoke. She seemed troubled by her considerations, and it was clear there was a great deal more on her mind than what she was voicing. After a moment, Saskia looked at the space beside him and joined him, easing herself onto her back at his side to stare into the sky. 

“I know it’s selfish and ignorant given all of the hardship you and your people have faced, but sometimes I find myself jealous of you and the Aen Seidhe...your closeness with one another, your connections. When Cyprius told me of how he feels about Eislenir...I wish to know what it’s like. Intimacy. Before…if we don’t…”

Her voice wavered, and she paused, the corner of her eyes glinting in the darkness. Iorveth reached for her hand and took it in his, cautiously, uncertain if she wished for his comfort. Saskia tensed at first, an involuntary reaction built from many years of isolation, but as she recognized his touch, her fingers relaxed and slowly twined with his. Iorveth drew her hand to his chest and held it there, his thumb tracing the curve of her palm, the softness of her fingers. 

“We’ve been through a great deal,” she murmured, her voice more weary than he had ever heard.

“And we’ve still much to do.”

“I know,” she smiled faintly, her hand clutching his tighter before letting him go. She sat up, head tilted up towards the sky. Saskia stretched out her arms, her hair spilling down her back. “It feels so good to be out of my armor,” she chuckled. After a thoughtful pause, she looked back at him over her shoulder, and a slow grin crossed her face. “I think you’re a bit overdressed.”

Iorveth raised a brow inquisitively. Her smile grew more mischievous, hungrier - knowing her true nature should have perhaps made the look frightening. Instead, he felt a guilty twinge of arousal. Without waiting for his reply, she rose to her feet and unfastened the belt at her waist, letting it fall to the ground. Her fingers slipped down to the hem of her tunic, and she drew the garment up and over her head slowly. Iorveth watched in captivated silence as the moonlight kissed her skin, inch by inch, up her thighs, across her hips, the gentle vee between her legs, her waist, her breasts, and up her muscled arms. She dropped her tunic next to her belt and treated him to a low laugh, pleased to find him staring when she at last looked to him. Saskia stepped towards him, the heels of her boots clicking authoritatively against the stone. When she reached him, she stepped so that he lay between her legs, still helplessly propped on his elbows. Eyes locked with his, she pressed one foot firmly to his chest.

“Help me with my boots.”

He hurriedly obeyed her command, fingers scrabbling at her laces until he was able to pull the boot loose. His fingers stroked her leg as he pulled the shoe away. As soon as he was done, she shifted her stance and offered him her other foot. Iorveth removed the other boot, daring to move a little more slowly so that he could better enjoy touching her, though she again pulled away from him as soon as he was finished.

“Now, remove your clothes and join me,” she turned towards the river and without hesitation dove into the Pontar’s lazy, undoubtedly cold waters. 

Iorveth sat up, perhaps a little too quickly, his muddled thoughts suddenly cleared and replaced with concern. It was unnecessary, however - she surfaced moments later with a gasp, water pouring down over her bare neck and shoulders. Saskia seemed more a mirage, a waking dream summoned by a desperate mind, than a living woman, Iorveth thought. The fantasy was only heightened as he noticed steam beginning to rise around her in thin tendrils, the water near her growing hot from the intensity of her draconic blood. 

“Well?” She called expectantly, dipping back down into the water to wash her hair back from her face. “Coming?”

He eyed the river with uncertainty. Iorveth was not particularly fond of deep waters or the cold, let alone both at once and without clothing. Saskia noted his hesitation and reclined her body in the water, the tips of her breasts just breaking the surface. 

“Iorveth...please?”

Iorveth had found her alluring from the first time they had met, which made it challenging to pinpoint how exactly he felt about her now. He had been with beautiful women before, felt attraction and desire, but Saskia was different. What he felt for Saskia was indescribable, defined only by what he knew he would do for her, which was very nearly anything. Never had his thoughts been so thoroughly consumed by anything. Even his thirst for revenge, the force that had driven and preserved him for decades, seemed like a casual craving compared to his desire to be by her side, and the initiation of their physical relationship had only encouraged that desire. Were she anyone other than herself, Iorveth would have suspected her of witchery and manipulation, but he knew her well, and he knew she was authentic - in fact, she was the truest being he had ever known.

He began to do as she requested, methodically undoing every buckle and strap, past his leather gloves and harness to his shirt of mail to the simple cloth beneath. Outside of his house, Iorveth was never without his full set of armor - being without it even now was not particularly easy. Nevertheless, he continued to undress, slowly making his way through each layer. Saskia did not appear to mind how long it was taking him. She watched him slyly from the water, faint wisps of steam circling her lovely face as she tracked his movements. At last, he kicked aside his breeches and glanced uncertainly down at the water, briefly wondering how much he would regret what came next, then dove. 

As expected, the water was bracing, though not as cold as he would have expected. He lingered beneath the surface to let his body adjust to the sudden change in temperature, his gaze wandering upwards to the wonderfully naked Saskia treading water not far from him. Iorveth swam towards her, fingers reaching out to slide up one bare foot, calf, and thigh. Even beneath the water, he heard her muffled yelp of surprise. She was waiting for him when he surfaced and greeted him with a splash of water to the face, her laugh ringing out amidst the quiet of the night. Iorveth grinned and shook the water from his head, spraying her with a barrage of cold droplets. He closed his eye to push his dripping hair back from the exposed half of his face, an opportunity that Saskia used to steal forward and press her lips to his own. Her warm arms snaked around him, her legs brushing against his own as they tread water together. Their kiss was brief, made awkward by their attempts to stay afloat. With a soft laugh, Saskia took his hand and drew him closer to the shore.

“You must be cold,” she wrapped her arms around his shoulders once more, her legs slipping about his waist. Her entire body radiated with a pleasant warmth, but the heat emanating from her core was intoxicating. He could feel his body responding, as could Saskia, and his fingers tightened on her waist as she angled her hips forward and pressed herself against him. 

“Saskia…,” Iorveth groaned and shuddered with eager pleasure as she repeated the movement.

“Hmm?” She replied, her voice sweet with feigned innocence. “Do you want me?”

He gasped as she pressed her lips to his chest, her mouth moving upwards towards his neck and following the path made by the twining branches of his tattoo. “Yes.”

Her lips slipped upward, her teeth working gently at the sensitive skin of his ear. “Then tell me.” She paused thoughtfully, her lips just grazing his skin, and tightened her legs’ grip on him. “Or better yet, show me.”

Iorveth happily obeyed. He slipped a hand into her hair and guided her to him, their lips meeting in a hard kiss as he carried her towards the shore. He dropped to his knees as soon as they reached the sands of the beach, taking care as he lowered her to the ground and following her downward. Iorveth was vaguely aware that they had not completely cleared the river - the waves were still lapping at their feet - but it did not matter. Her warm tongue was pressing against his, and her hand was tracing the lines of his muscled chest, downward across his stomach, and downward still. When she found him, her fingers tightened around him and stroked, and she gave a small gasp of pleasure as he pulsed in response. Iorveth pressed into her grip and groaned, head spinning with the delirious joy he felt when with her.

Impatient to be filled, Saskia repositioned her hips in the sand and guided him to her. As Iorveth shifted his weight to his elbows, Saskia ran her hands along his body and gripped his hips eagerly. She pressed her fingers into his skin, urging him to enter her, but Iorveth waited, poised at her entrance, just barely pressing in. It took Saskia a moment or two to realize she was being teased, her soft noises of desperation growing increasingly impatient, until she met his gaze and found him grinning. Her lip curled into a frustrated pout, and Iorveth laughed, drawing her in for a hungry kiss. She returned it fiercely, her fingernails running upwards from his hips and along his back, pressing just hard enough to make him shiver with pleasure. Her legs wrapped about him suddenly and flexed, driving him forward and into her before he could stop her. They moaned together as they joined at last. 

Saskia stretched her arms above her head as he began, thrusting into her slowly, patiently, and he clasped her wrists in his hands. With her arms, her breasts were in perfect reach, and Iorveth eagerly bent to lick and suck and bite at the soft skin. She closed her eyes, doing her best to contain her moans to a muffled volume. They had walked some distance from the campsite, but in such a quiet area and so close to the river, sound was likely to travel far. With each thrust, Saskia drove her hips upward to meet him, urging him to move faster, but he took his time. Her flustered sounds and quiet pleas were too arousing to waste by continuing too quickly. 

“Iorveth...please, I…,” she paused to gasp as he bit gently at her nipple.

“Hmm?’

“Faster...I need you to…” Saskia hissed in surprise as he released one of her wrists in favor of rubbing between her legs. Her back arched sharply against the sand. “Please…”

He groaned as she squeezed him, her internal muscles gripping him hard and drawing him deep. “You’re very persuasive.”

“You are stalling.”

Iorveth chuckled breathlessly and slowly rocked his hips against her. “I enjoy being with you, having you to myself,” he confessed. “I like it to last.”

Saskia searched his face for a moment, her deep blue eyes looking hard for something in his own, or perhaps her questions were directed inward. Iorveth stopped to stroke her face and simply admire the sight of her, the beautiful, moonlit Queen. She clutched his wrist and bucked her hips. Caught by surprise, she easily rolled them both so that she sat above him, her sandy hair falling about them both as she leaned forward to kiss him. As their lips met, she began to ride him at the pace she wanted. Her face flushed with pleasure as she angled him within just as she liked. Despite what he had said, Iorveth happily relinquished to her control, wonderfully aroused at how much pleasure she herself seemed to draw from their coupling. 

Her spine was beginning to curve, her legs beginning to tighten. Her pace slowed a bit as she tightened with anticipation. Iorveth gripped her hips eagerly and thrust with her, focusing on her reaction to his movements to help her reach her climax. He felt it initiate at the base of her spine and shiver upwards, her back arching upward as she came. Her nails flexed into his chest and her head fell back as she cried out, any concerns over being heard forgotten. Her muscles rippled around him in quick succession. Iorveth groaned and thrust into her hard, letting her pull him into his own release. The two sat posed together in silence for a moment, recovering from their respective, ecstatic climaxes. 

When the waves within her subsided, Saskia let herself fall against him, her chest pressing to his. He could feel her heart beating wildly, not unlike his own. Iorveth wordlessly wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, turning his face to her tousled hair and revelling in her scent. The minutes passed, and Iorveth felt himself drifting contentedly towards. She seemed much the same, her breaths coming more deeply and slowly, but when he ran his hand along her back, Saskia roused quickly and sat up. She hummed with pleasure when she realized they were still joined but pulled away and instead knelt beside him in the sand. 

“Iorveth?”

He turned his head towards her and opened his eye, forcing himself back to the present. She wore the same thoughtful gaze she had been wearing for most of the night. He waited patiently, and this time she voiced the question that had been on her mind, and the one question he had been afraid she would broach.

“Cyprius said that most Aen Seidhe don’t share physical intimacy with another unless they are a bonded pair or wish to become one. You said that practice is less common now. What do you feel when you’re with me?”

Iorveth held her gaze. He knew quite clearly how he felt about her. He had felt similarly when he had first heard her talk of her beliefs, her dreams, and he only felt more strongly now. While he had no desire to risk making her uncomfortable, she had asked him directly, and Iorveth could only answer her question honestly.

“When I’m with you, I feel content. At peace,” he shrugged in confession. “And alarmingly unangry.”

Saskia chuckled and ran her hand over his chest, eyes sparkling in the starlight. “I’m happy,” and she sincerely seemed to be. He clutched her hand in his own, and she smiled. “Do you think they heard us back at camp?”

“I hope so,” he grinned, his free hand running up along the inside of her thigh. 

She flitted away with a laugh before his fingers could reach their destination, stepping back from him to shake as much sand as possible from her hair and body. 

“Don’t tempt me. We have an early morning ahead of us.”

Iorveth folded his arm behind his head and watched her, though the impending cold left him uncomfortable before long, and he joined her as she began to dress. He helped her pull on her tunic, his hands slipping over the curves of her body, re-committing them to memory. 

“Will you come back to camp soon?”

Iorveth nodded, “Very. I’ll check the perimeter while you return, then I’ll head back.”

Saskia pulled him close and kissed him quickly, “Thank you. For tonight.”

He blinked in surprise, uncertain of what to say, and she turned towards camp before he could respond. “Dearme, Saskia,” he called to her gently.

She paused to quickly smile at him over her shoulder, “Goodnight, Iorveth.” 

Saskia disappeared into the thin line of trees near the water. Iorveth waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps, then slipped away from the shore to do as he had promised. The night was calm, unspoiled by traces of danger. When he was certain they could sleep in peace, he made his way back to the campsite and his thin bedroll on the ground. He was grateful for the thick fur that he had brought with, and he quickly set his bandana near the dying fire to dry before seeking out his bed.


	7. Pleasant Dreams...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for assistance from an old friend, Iorveth investigates the presence of a strange foe.

Vergen’s new citizens were adapting as well as could be expected. All was not peace and love and blissful harmony - there had been more than one brawl in the streets since the newcomers had settled in - but overall, there was a sense of understanding between the old and the new, and everyone seemed grateful for the larger numbers walking the city’s walls in the nights. Those who had joined them recently shared tumors they had heard, and none of it had been particularly encouraging. Consequently, Saskia had been busy. Every day, she met with her Council to plan and oversee preparations, and she had requested Iorveth’s presence during a few such meetings. Iorveth was accustomed to leading smaller units in guerilla-type situations and had little experience with fortifying an entire city against an invasion, but he gladly offered what input he could and felt oddly humbled when his advice was heeded, and not just by Saskia. For the most part, he attributed the newfound respect to desperation. After all, soldiers were the minority within Vergen’s walls. Still, it was impossible not to notice the growing familiarity with which many of Vergen’s residents were beginning to treat him. Just the other day, a dh’oine woman had been walking through the market, and when Iorveth had passed, she looked him in the eye, smiled, greeted him and bid her children to do the same. He nearly shuddered at the memory. 

And yet, Iorveth was tempted to be warmed by this interaction and others like it that he had experienced in recent days. After all, it was what he had wanted. Not attention from dh’oine, no, but a basic level of respect directed towards himself and, most importantly, to his brothers and sisters. It was beginning to happen within Vergen. It was slow and imperfect, but it was measurable progress, and the recent increase in population had only helped. So limited was the space that the “dwarven enclave” and the “elf district” had ceased to be. Now, humans, dwarves, and elves all neighbored with one another, and familiarity was beginning to foster trust. 

But will it last, when Radovid’s army is standing at our gates?

Iorveth cast aside yet another pointed log, adding it to the growing pile meant for a series of spike pits they had planned for the woods near Vergen. He turned his knife in his hand, stretching his cramping fingers, and picked up another branch. He kicked off a few of the smaller, connected branches and began to whittle it to a point, grateful for the shaded spot he had found and claimed as a few beads of sweat began to form along his brow. Iorveth wiped them away with a gloved hand and lifted his gaze at the sound of approaching footsteps. 

Skalen Burdon offered a nod and a gruff, “Iorveth,” by way of greetings. The dwarf looked him over, arms crossed over his chest. “Aren’t you sweltering working in all that armor? Still ‘fraid someone’s gonna knife you?”

Iorveth blinked impassively at the dwarf’s questions. Sensing he would get no response, Skalen grunted and gestured towards the city’s center. 

“The Queen wants to speak with you.”

A pleasant surprise. Iorveth tossed his branch aside and pocketed his knife, glad to rise to his feet and stretch out his legs. “What about?”

“Do I look like bloody Saskia to you? Is it the tits? Ask her yerself!”

Iorveth raised his brow, “Bad game of dice, dwarf?”

Skalen treated him to an obscene gesture and departed, trundling back up the street without another word. Iorveth made his way to the Castle of the Three Fathers, hewn roughly into Vergen’s hillside. The stone halls were refreshingly cool and always smelled pleasantly of earth and moss. Within the main chamber where Saskia’s War Council frequently met, Iorveth caught the sound of the Queen’s voice, raised and angry with displeasure. He hesitated near the door, caught between the desire to barge in and address whatever it was that concerned her and listen quietly from the hallway. With no small amount of restraint, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall opposite of the chamber’s doorway, picking up as much as he could of the muffled exchange through the thick walls. Fortunately for him, he did not have long to wait. After a minute or two of heated discussion, the heavy wooden doors of the chamber flew open, and the dh’oine male, Nyles, exited quickly, casting a dark look at Iorveth as he made his way down the hall. 

Only silence remained within the room. When he was certain no others would be exiting, Iorveth stepped forward and closed the door behind him. He cast his gaze about the large meeting room and found only Saskia standing next to the large table, palms flat against it, head hung and chest heaving as she muttered furiously under her breath. It was a rare thing to see Saskia lose her temper, but the few times that he had, Iorveth had been astounded by how fearsome she could be, even in human form. In truth, it was one of many of her traits that resonated with him, and he rather liked seeing her worked up…

He adamantly pushed the ensuing thoughts from his mind, irritated at how quickly his thoughts devolved into amorous daydreams.

“Saskia,” he spoke her name softly to alert her to his presence. After a moment, she looked up, and the furling smoke in her eyes abated. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she sighed in frustration, moving around the table to be closer to him. “I was simply having a discussion with Sir Nyles regarding...diplomatic tactics.”

Iorveth folded his arms over his chest, “Meaning...what, exactly?”

“Sir Nyles is of the opinion that I should take a husband. He believes sharing Upper Aedirn’s throne with a male would make me more approachable for peace talks.”

“With Radovid?”

“With Radovid, with Emhyr, with whomever,” she chewed her lip pensively. “What do you think of his theory? Do you think there’s any credence to it?”

Iorveth shrugged, “No. I think it’s absolutely false. The dh’oine kings have shown no respect for each other or for anyone. They are egocentric psychopaths. They will show no respect for you or for any husband that you choose, especially Radovid. But what I think matters little.” His gaze locked with hers. “What do you think?”

Saskia gave a soft, desperate laugh, “I think that it’s a little pointless to be considering marriage and succession when I’m not even sure Vergen will be more than a burning pile of rubble in a few weeks.”

Iorveth was surprised to hear her speak so candidly and with such despair, even if she had said it half in jest. She looked tired and tense, he noted as he studied her, like she had not slept in days. Iorveth unfolded his arms and stepped towards her, leaning back against the edge of the table beside her. 

“It seems my Queen needs to unwind.”

A slow grin crept across Saskia’s face, “You’re not wrong.” She openly looked him over, eyes roving down his chest as she nursed a question. “What would you do if I asked you to undress and mounted you right here?” Her knuckles rapped sharply against the table, and she stepped forward until she was just inches away from him, her eyes boring into his. “It certainly seems sturdy enough.”

Iorveth raised his brow as if taken aback by her question, “What would I do? I’d enjoy it thoroughly. And I would do my humble duty to my Queen, which is to say I’d do everything I could to ensure that she enjoyed it even more.” He happily basked in the intensity of her gaze and wondered how seriously she was considering the notion. “Is that an invitation?”

Saskia smiled and reached out to him, her fingertips just grazing his armored chest before returning to her side. “More of a fantasy. Perhaps one we can indulge in another time. Sadly, I asked you here for your help with a much graver problem,” she stepped back and paced away, crossing her arms behind her back as she stalked across the room. “Two patrols have gone missing. The first was a little over a week ago, scouts headed to the east along the Pontar. The second was a few days ago, searching for the first. None have returned.”

Iorveth nodded. Eislenir had told him of the second patrol, and the ever-restless Brenswyck had eagerly joined. Saskia paced to a window, her shoulders tense as she gripped the stone ledge and looked out over the city. 

“The other night, as I walked the walls, a wind was blowing in from the east. It reeked of death. Not of war, something different. Something worse,” she paused, her face tightening with worry. “I fear there’s something out there. That it has our people. I spoke of this to Zoltan the same evening, told him of my fears. He asked why I thought of this, and I told him it was ‘intuition,’” she laughed softly, but there was little mirth in the sound. “He didn’t seem to believe me, but he sent word to the witcher.”

“Gwynbleidd?” Iorveth was truly surprised. While he himself respected and even admired the vatt’ghern, he knew Saskia did not share the feeling. After all, the White Wolf was one of the very few who was aware of Saskia’s true identity, and by comparison, she knew very little of him. “And? Did he agree to come?”

Saskia shrugged, exasperated, “I am uncertain. Zoltan assures me that he will, but I have my doubts. Even if he is nearby, with the war...I fear he will not arrive in time. But we need our people back. We need everyone we can muster if we are to face what is to come. Iorveth,” she turned to him, eyes clouded with worry, “will you search for signs as to what happened to them? I would go with you myself, but every day the city grows more anxious, and I cannot risk being absent if one army or another appears at our gates.”

Iorveth raised a hand to quell her worries, “I’ll go, and gladly.”

“All you should do is follow their trail, see if you can learn anything about where they went or what might have happened. If my suspicions are right and our people were taken, by no means are you to investigate further. The witcher will help us, or we will find another way. You must return and tell me what you find.”

“Understood. I’ll leave within the hour. Is there anything else?”

Saskia shook her head, “Thank you. Truly.”

Iorveth smiled softly, “No need. I’m glad to help.”

With a nod, he pushed off from the side of the table and turned for the door, already calculating how much time he had before sundown. The land to the east was hilly and forested, difficult to traverse by human standards, but Iorveth had spent a good amount of time exploring the area. He was certain he could find the answers they needed.

“Iorveth.”

He paused and turned, the sound of her voice drawing him back from his thoughts. She stepped forward slowly, seeking the right words in her patient, thoughtful way. 

“Did you know that dragons rarely dream?” She hesitated, seemingly uncertain as to how much she should divulge, but she brushed her reservations aside and continued. “I...dreamt of you last night. It was a pleasant dream,” she kissed him swiftly on the lips, her fingers brushing the side of his face. “Please be safe, and return quickly.”

“I will,” he took her hand and gently pressed her knuckles to his lips. “And when I do, perhaps you’ll tell me more about this dream.”

She smiled, her eyes alight with warmth, “I promise.”

\----

As Saskia had said, clear tracks marked both missing patrols’ paths east and away from Vergen, generally following the path of the Pontar. As he moved through the trees, Iorveth remained alert for any signs that would suggest trouble, but nothing seemed out of place. Both sets of trails stayed close with little evidence of conflict or divergence from the set course. In truth, the journey was quite dull, and Iorveth found himself wondering if Geralt ever found his job monotonous or tiresome. 

It was several hours before Iorveth found anything of interest, and when he did, the information he gleaned was unusual at best. The trails he had been following east turned suddenly and sharply to the south, away from the Pontar, and towards a rocky hill. Iorveth’s initial thought was that bad weather had driven the first from its planned route and towards some hope of shelter, and the second patrol had instinctively followed the path of the first. But the unsettling truth was the second trail turned in a similar direction before the first, meaning that something else had driven the second patrol away from the river. Either way, the path was clear, and Iorveth decided to continue following the trails towards the hill. As he walked, he drew his bow, an odd sensation of uncertainty sending a faint chill across his skin.

The paths continued upwards, pressing onward even when the terrain grew rocky and difficult. He wondered what could have driven both groups away from the river and across such unstable ground, but there was little around that Iorveth could see to explain what had happened. As the hill grew steeper and more treacherous, he returned his bow to his shoulder and used his hands to help pull himself up the rocks. The hill gave way suddenly to a brief plateau, then dropped again suddenly into what appeared to be a roughly-hewn cave entrance. The tracks he had been following below were gone or impossible to follow over the rocky ground. Iorveth eyed the area warily, Saskia’s words of warning echoing in his thoughts. What, he wondered, frequented caves? Trolls, perhaps? From what he could see, there were no monstrous footprints, no remnants of the patrols, nothing to mark the cave as special. Yet Iorveth had the distinct feeling that answers were close at hand. He knew full well that he should turn back, that he had accomplished what Saskia had asked of him, but curiosity drew him forward, and he carefully advanced down the steep slope towards the cave. 

The air moving out from within was cold and damp and smelled of mold. If there were traces of anything else, he could not detect them. Iorveth lingered at the cave’s entrance, eye piercing into the darkness as best as he was able and finding little. No movement, no noise. He moved forward slowly, fingers trailing along the wall to guide him. If his vision adjusted to the lack of light, it was only just. Iorveth began to slow, growing more uncertain as the mouth of cave shrank behind him. The floor seemed to be angling down further into the earth, and the sounds of the outside world had grown dim. It was time to turn around. 

Just as his pace was about to slow to a halt, a startling clang of metal sounded as his foot connected with something heavy on the ground. Iorveth knelt, fingers tentatively reaching into the darkness. His hands closed on the object, fingers tracing its cold edges: armor, a helmet, and thankfully void of contents. Yet, its outside was sticky with half-dried liquid. He brought his fingertips closer to his face, though little confirmation was needed. Blood.

Iorveth gritted his teeth in a silent curse and lowered the helmet to the ground as quietly as he was able, fingers seeking out the safety of the wall. He turned back towards the way he had come, suddenly very eager for the clarity of daylight, and started in alarm as he became aware of something standing just inches away. He stumbled backwards, heels catching on the rocky floor, and desperately reached for the sword at his belt. 

The creature screamed. Its shrill, piercing cry seemed to shake the cave walls, or perhaps it was simply that his vision was blurring from the involuntary tears of pain that the deafening sound raised. Iorveth dropped his sword in favor of covering his ears, his feeble balance lost completely as the monster threw itself upon him. It was smaller than he was, shorter and frailer, but it was immensely strong. Clawed, gnarled hands closed around his arms, its knees wedging into his chest as it held him against the ground. 

Iorveth twisted and bucked, trying to throw the thing off, but it held fast above him, its rancid breath drawing closer as it leaned in. The creature opened its mouth, revealing rows of long, vicious fangs, its black eyes glittering wildly in the darkness. He struggled to push himself away, but the monster persisted, leaning in closer and closer until its jaws snapped down on the bare skin between his shoulder and neck. Iorveth cried out in pain as its fangs ripped through his jacket and dug into his flesh. The sound seemed to momentarily startle the creature, and its grip loosened just enough for him to shove the thing off. He drew his sword just as the monster regained its focus and leapt towards him, the blade making a horrible ripping sound as he ran it through the creature’s abdomen. The monster screamed again, more feebly than before, its hands scrabbling uselessly at the blade as Iorveth twisted it and pushed it deeper. 

Slowly, the thing’s rabid struggling grew weaker, a dark pool forming below the two of them as it bled out, and eventually it grew still, slouching forward and against him. Iorveth shoved the creature’s body away and withdrew his sword, blood running from its gleaming edge. The corpse toppled to the ground heavily. Although too dark to make out much detail, Iorveth thought the thing’s outline looked suspiciously like that of a human female. Injured and unprepared to venture further into the cave, he decided to return to Vergen for help. If anyone remained of the two patrols, Iorveth had neither seen nor heard any signs of them. Clutching his bleeding shoulder with one hand, he found the cave wall with the other and hurried as quickly as he dared in the darkness towards the cave’s entrance. 

The journey back to the city felt endless, and a deep fatigue soon washed over him. Several times, Iorveth found himself tempted to stop and rest, but he knew he had to get back to Vergen as soon as possible. Even so, his eye seemed to grow heavier with each plodding step. It was impossible to say whether the tiredness came from the blood loss, a side effect of the monster’s bite, or something else completely. What was more, the sun was beginning to set, and long shadows stretched and twisted around him, turning the forested terrain into something surreal. Fortunately, the woods around Vergen were familiar, and Iorveth’s feet mindlessly carried him along the Pontar and back towards the city walls. 

Blurred torchlight flickered again, a beacon drawing him out of the twilit wilderness and into safety. He heard voices, saw faces, but he could scarcely recognize them for the tiredness that had overtaken him. One voice cut through the others, high and melodic, but sharp, directing.

“Iorveth.”

He tried to focus on the face before him, green eyes staring into his, fingers urging his hand away from the wound at his shoulder. Eislenir.

“He’s bleeding. Fetch me clean linen, bandages.”

People moving, voices, noise. He became vaguely aware that he was sitting somewhere indoors. Another face drew near, and Cyprius’ unmistakable voice muffled out the other sounds.

“Did you find Brenswyck? What of the others?”

“Leave him, he’s in no state for questions,” Eislenir pushed the other elf away and knelt, carefully peeling back Iorveth’s armor as best she could so she could dress his wound.

“Someone should tell Saskia.”

“Then go.”

Iorveth could feel his wound stinging, could see Eislenir tending to it, but he felt as though he was outside of himself, watching from a corner. His thoughts were sluggish, his movements delayed. He groaned softly in irritation and shook his head, desperate to clear it. Eislenir finished with his wound and handed him a cup.

“Here, drink. It’ll help.”

He obeyed. It was a cold tea of sorts, herbal and earthy, but she was right. Iorveth could feel the pain in his shoulder ebbing away to an odd tingling, and the fuzziness behind his eyes seemed to be abating. He finished drinking and placed the cup on the ground, relieved to feel himself returning to the present. 

“An old detoxification recipe,” Eislenir explained. “Whatever bit you had something nasty in its saliva. I applied a salve to your wound as well, but what you really need is rest. Cyprius left to tell Saskia of your return. No doubt she’s eager to hear what happened, but you ought to wait until morning, get some sleep.” She paused, chewing thoughtfully at the inside of her lip. “Did you see the others?”

Iorveth shook his head, “Nothing promising. There’s a cave...the creature was in it. I killed it, but I had no torch...the cave...”

Eislenir’s jaw clenched at the news, but she placed her hand upon his arm, “We’ll find them together, but not tonight. Come, I’ll walk you home.”

She drew him to his feet and walked beside him, her arm about bicep to help support him should he need it. But Iorveth was pleased to find that he was feeling markedly better, and in place of the overwhelming disorientation from before remained only a deep, pulsing headache. As much as he wished to fight it, the thought of sleep was growing more and more appealing. They reached the edge of the city and his secluded house. Eislenir paused as they drew near and studied him, eyes narrow with uncertainty.

“What?”

“Will you be alright alone? Perhaps it would be best if someone stayed with you. We don’t know what bit you or if your wound will continue to cause you trouble.”

“I’m fine,” he drew his arm away from her grasp, and she released him, though she seemed unconvinced. “Truly, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Accustomed to his terseness, Eislenir considered him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow.”

The she-elf accepted his promise and departed. Iorveth pushed open the door to his home, instantly alerted to the presence of another by the fire burning in his hearth, the smell of scented smoke, and the out-of-place furniture that had been pushed about. His nerves rippled with familiar alarm reminiscent of what he had felt earlier in the cave, and his hand slipped to the sword at his belt. He drew it and advanced slowly, silently. As he drew near the shielded corner where his bed sat, his shadow passed in front of the screen that partitioned the area off from the rest of his home. The intruder coughed suddenly in surprise, their own shadow twisting behind the curtain.

“Iorveth?”

She stepped into view, naked except for one of his furs, which was draped lazily about her shoulders, the ends clutched in one hand. Smoke curled about her face, but not smoke of a draconic nature - his pipe was poised in her other hand, still faintly aglow with embers. 

“Saskia,” his brow raised in surprise, and he sheathed his weapon. “I’m not certain you should be smoking that.”

“Nor I,” she drew the pipe to her lips, inhaled slowly, and coughed again, giggling giddily. “I’m sorry. I should have asked first.”

Iorveth shook his head, “No, not at all - I’m just not certain how your body will react to it. Apparently fairly similarly to how mine does.”

“I guess we truly aren’t so different, in the end,” Saskia laughed and extended her hand, offering the pipe to him. “So, what news of our monster?”

Iorveth took the pipe from her but simply held it. “Dead.”

“Dead?” Saskia’s eyes widened. “Iorveth…”

“I know. I was to leave it for the vatt’ghern. Truly, I had no intention of facing the thing alone, but it ambushed me. I had no choice. So I fought it and managed to kill it.”

She regarded him for a moment, openly impressed. “This doesn’t mean you’re going to take up a life of witchering, does it?”

“Perhaps. It does pay more than my current occupation.”

Saskia chuckled and shifted her weight from one hip to the other, the motion tugging the fur about her back from one bare, shapely leg. “However can I convince you otherwise?”

Iorveth smiled faintly and placed the pipe on the nearby table before stepping towards her. “You could simply ask me to stay,” he replied, his voice low, emerald eye glinting as it locked with her steely blue ones.

Her smile faded, eyes growing serious, and she reached out her hand to gently cup his face. “Then, will you please stay? Spend the night with me.” Her thumb traced along his face, glided gently across his lips, and paused just where the scar that covered most of the right side of his face began. “I’ll help you relax.”

Iorveth groaned softly in consent, eye closing with pleasure at the touch of her fingers. He felt a tug as she began to work at the buckles holding his leather harness in place. When he opened his eye, she stood naked before him, the fur about her shoulders released and fallen to the floor to free her hands. If sleep had seemed appealing before, the urge to touch her and taste her was infinitely greater, but his thoughts returned to something he had heard Eislenir say while tending to his wound. 

“Cyprius is looking for you.”

“He won’t find me,” she grinned as she finished unfastening his harness and began to pull it from his shoulders. “Anyway, I told Cecil that it was paramount I remain uninterrupted tonight. Cyprius will find Cecil, and I’m sure Cecil will tell me all about how brave Iorveth has returned to Vergen tomorrow morning. No doubt, I will be very surprised at the news.”

As his harness fell away, her eyes settled on the bandage she had not seen. Her eyes flicked to his, wide with concern. 

“You’re wounded.”

Iorveth grunted and shrugged dismissively, eager to return to other activities, and began to unbuckle and remove his gloves. She tilted her chin forward defiantly and waited, displeased by his response. He tossed his gloves aside and scowled.

“I’m fine. It’s just a bite.”

“A bite?” Her hands fell to her sides, incredulous. “You failed to mention that.” 

“Mmm, sorry, I was distracted” Iorveth stepped forward and slipped his now-free hands about her bare waist. “I can demonstrate, if you’d like.”

Saskia began to say something in protest, but her words melted into first a sigh, then a moan, as he pulled her close and pressed his lips to her warm throat. He kissed downward from below her ear, following the curve of her neck, to the soft hollow where her shoulder began. He kissed the spot hard, lips pulling at her skin until she whimpered, then bit down softly. Her arms wrapped about his neck in a silent plea for him to continue, so he did, moving slowly down her shoulder, then beginning again at the other side of her neck. She twisted in his arms, gasping and moaning at his rough attentions. When he had completed his work on her other shoulder, he pulled back slightly from her embrace and awaited her verdict. The way she looked now was maddening - her hair was tousled and free, her eyes heavily-lidded and lips flushed with pleasure. Saskia met his gaze and treated him to a soft, hoarse laugh.

“Kiss me like that everywhere,” she instructed.

Iorveth growled with pleasure and pulled her close. Hands locking about her waist, he stooped and lifted her over his uninjured shoulder. She gave a small shriek of surprise that faded into a giggle, and Iorveth took no small amount of pleasure in knowing he was likely the only person in the world to have heard her make such sounds. He carried her to his bed and lowered her onto it, eagerly returning his attention to her body. He kissed her lips, her neck and breasts. He kissed her stomach and the points of her hips. He kissed the insides of her thighs. He kissed everywhere he was able, feverishly lost in the beauty that was Saskia. When her skin was aglow and her breathing heavy with mounting pleasure, she grabbed his hand and guided it between her legs, encouraging him to feel her. He let her guide him and found that she was wonderfully wet; his finger slipped over her and into her freely, and she arched against him, seeking more. 

He withdrew from her and quickly began to undo the many buckles and straps that held the rest of his armor in place. Saskia sat up eagerly to help him, slipping the shirt of mail over his head while he unbuttoned the long, cloth jacket beneath, shrugging out of it as soon as he was able. Iorveth kicked off his boots and trousers and hurriedly tossed them aside, but Saskia sat hesitantly, her fingers slowly moving to the bandana covering half of his face - the last article of clothing he wore. Her eyes met him with the silent question. His first instinct was to deny the request, and he felt a stab of shame at the thought of her seeing what had been taken from him. She had seen his face before, but never like this. What if she found it more unsettling than she thought? He could hardly blame her if she did.

“Iorveth,” she spoke his name softly, her fingers tracing the edge of the simple, red cloth. “It’s alright.”

In truth, he knew that he only cared about her seeing him fully due to his own pride, for Saskia knew of his scars, how he had obtained them. Saskia knew more about him than most, and she had not once given him reason not to trust her. Iorveth inclined his head in surrender and closed his eye as she gently removed his bandana. Her fingers ran through his hair, drawing it out until it fell free in a tousled mess past his shoulders. She laughed gently, and he opened his eye in surprise.

“Your hair’s getting long,” she smiled, her fingers gently twisting a tendril of it. “I like it.”

“You do?”

“Mmm,” her fingers ran down from his hair and traced the tattooed leaves at his neck with warm familiarity. “You’re lovely, Iorveth.”

Saskia pulled him into a kiss and wrapped her arms around him as she drew him down into a sitting position on the bed. He could taste the bittersweet combination of smoke and herbs on her lips, along with her true taste, warm and sweet. She straddled him slowly, taking care to slide herself teasingly along the length of his awaiting hardness. Iorveth groaned softly in anticipation, and she repeated the movement in response. 

“Saskia…,” he begged gently, his hands running over the smooth curves of her body. 

“Hmm?” Her fingers traced the harder lines of his own body, his chest, his arms, a figure forged from decades of fighting and hardship. She leaned close so that her lips just brushed against his, running her hips against him once more. “Does the legendary Iorveth, commander of the Scoia’tael, defender of Vergen, and hobbyist monster-slayer not enjoy being teased?”

He glowered in response.

“I like it when you pout.”

Saskia took him in hand and guided him to her entrance, her lips pressing against his as she lowered herself onto him completely. Their kiss muffled her soft cry of pleasure as he thrust against her, pushing further still. She wrapped her legs about his hips and pressed her forehead to his as they made love, slowly, moving together to deepen each thrust. As her eyes grew cloudy with lust, she pressed her palms to his shoulders and pushed him down into the bed, shifting her hips so that their movements filled her in just the right way. Iorveth gladly let her do as she wished, mesmerized by the look in her eyes and the blush creeping into her breasts, neck, and face. As she drew closer, she pressed her forehead to his again, and her eyes locked with his.

“Harder,” she commanded breathlessly. “Faster.”

Her movements ceased as she relinquished control to him. Iorveth gripped her hips and felt her body brace around him with anticipation. Holding her in place, he did as she commanded and began to thrust into her relentlessly, shuddering with pleasure as her nails dug into the skin of his chest and her soft moans morphed into urgent, crescendoing cries. She pressed her chest to his as she began to reach her end, thighs trembling against him as a few last thrusts pushed her over the edge. She cried out once more in release and arched her back upwards to savor the ripples of pleasure that flooded her. Iorveth voiced his own pleasure as he soon followed her, his arms wrapping tightly around her so he could feel her heart beating wildly against his own. They lay together in the quiet, ecstatic buzzing of their mutual release, and Iorveth silently wished to remain in this moment forever. He savored each shared breath, the warmth of her skin, the gentle tickle of her lips against his neck. 

To his dismay, she finally lifted herself from him and they parted, but she did not move far. Saskia lay at his side, her body pressed to his, her head resting on his shoulder. She slipped an arm over his chest, her fingers tracing slow patterns across his skin. 

“Iorveth,” she hesitated, “could I stay the night? Here, with you?”

Iorveth’s heart warmed within his chest at her question. He pulled her closer, arm tightly twined about her waist, and pressed his face to her wild hair. “Of course.”

He felt her smile against his skin and drew the furs up and around them to ward away the chill of the night. He could not tell how long he lay awake, listening to the sound of her breathing as it slowed and she surrendered to sleep. Eventually, he too drifted off, more content than he could ever remember being in his life, the woman that he loved and respected above all safe and asleep at his side.

When Iorveth finally awoke, his home was aglow with the soft, reassuring light of morning, but Saskia was gone and there were voices raised in anger coming from the streets.


	8. ...and Darkest Nightmares

“Saskia?”

Iorveth sat up blearily. His house was silent, and there was no trace of her. The voices outside were growing louder, and the urgency behind them drove him to dress quickly He pulled on his clothes, his boots, his armor, taking care to avoid the aching, bruised bite at his shoulder, and finally his bandana, hiding away his unkempt hair, minus a few tendrils that fell free along the side of his face. Uncertain of what he would find outside his home, he grabbed his sword, bow, and knife as well, strapping them into his belt and harness. At last, he made for the door, grunting quietly as the full morning sun bore down into his sleep-addled eyes. 

He made his way towards the commotion, and not far from his home, he found the source. Saskia stood near one of the main elven hostels sat, a small crowd loosely gathered around her. Eislenir and Cyprius stood together with a few other Scoia’tael near the back of the crowd, their faces gaunt and still. When Iorveth met Eislenir’s gaze, she held it evenly, but something troubling lurked in her otherwise impassive face. 

“Saskia, be reasonable. This makes little sense,” Cecil Burdon was passionately imploring Upper Aedirn’s queen. “If you’re seriously considering this, don’t you think we should at least take it before the Council?” 

The insufferable dolt, Sir Nyles, scoffed loudly, his demeanor somehow even more pompous and arrogant than usual. He stepped forward from Saskia’s side, arms crossed over his puffed chest, and planted an authoritative pose. 

“She’s being perfectly reasonable, dwarf, and show some respect for your queen!”

“Nobody’s spoken to you, you bloody fool!” Zoltan snapped, his scraggly face florid with anger. 

“Enough!” Saskia snapped. She regarded Iorveth as he approached, but her gaze was oddly withdrawn and cold. “Iorveth.”

He stopped as he reached the edge of the crowd, his arms reflexively crossing over his chest as all eyes turned to him. A painful silence stretched out, and it seemed that all wished to speak at once, yet no one had the courage to begin. Iorveth looked from face to face, dwarf, dh’oine, elf, and finally to Saskia.

“What’s going on?” He asked at last, his voice sharp with annoyance at being discluded from the obviously heated conversation. 

Cecil looked from Iorveth to Saskia and shook his head, turning to leave. “I refuse to be a part of this.”

Zoltan lowered his head and followed close behind, pausing as they passed Iorveth. The dwarf looked up at him grimly. “I’m sorry, laddie.”

“You’re free to leave,” Saskia spoke up as the dwarves departed. “I require neither your presence nor your permission. And perhaps this is a good time to remind all that I am the queen of Vergen, and all that I do, I do for this city and for all of Upper Aedirn.”

Iorveth looked at her uncomprehendingly, his temper rising with each moment that he was left in the dark. “What the bloede hell is happening?”

“She sold us out!” 

Eislenir’s voice cut through the silence, the truth blurted out in a voice that wavered with fury and pain. Her dark hair twisted about her pale face, her emerald eyes glassy with suppressed tears. Cyprius held her hand in his own, and his fingers tightened around hers, pulling her closer in reassurance. Iorveth stared at the she-elf, mouth agape, trying and failing to understand what she meant. His eye flicked to Nyles; the man stood proudly, a smug grin on his wretched face. He turned to Saskia, but she was staring at Eislenir coldly. His agitation reaching its limit, Iorveth stepped forward to demand an answer. Nyles began to move between him and Saskia, but Iorveth turned to him, his eye viciously wild with all of the unbridled hatred he felt towards the man and all others like him. The pathetic dh’oine stepped back in surprise, temporarily cowed. He returned his gaze to Saskia, who for a moment looked doubtful. He leaned towards her, unconcerned if he seemed too forward, too familiar. 

“Saskia, what is she talking about? What’s going on?”

“While you were gone,” she began, “while you were searching for the lost patrols, I met with a Nilfgaardian envoy, sent by Emhyr himself. He told me of the current status of the war, of the hell that Aedirn will soon be swept into once Radovid brings his army south to the Pontar. He described in detail the things Radovid has done, not only to those who stood against him, but to those who merely stood in his way. All of Aedirn will soon fall, Upper Aedirn likely first. We have no major allies, no army to protect us. Radovid will come to our gates, and he will raze Vergen to the ground. We cannot withstand him, not without help.”

Iorveth stiffened, his jaw clenching in denial of the realization that was beginning to fall into place. He shook his head, refusing to believe what he was hearing, but Saskia remained unmoved. 

“You’re a terrorist, Iorveth, as are your Scoia’tael. The emperor of Nilfgaard will come to our aid, but everything has a price. To keep Upper Aedirn safe, to protect my dream of a free land for all who are righteous and who wish for security, that price is you.”

His stomach sank as she spoke the words, and for a moment, Iorveth felt strangely cold all over, as though heavy clouds had obscured the sun. His thoughts raced through their shared memories, their time together, from the start of it all to the previous night - how could this be the same Saskia he had stood beside for so long? The truth was simple: it could not be. 

“Saskia,” he pleaded quietly, trying to appeal to her alone despite the crowd around them, “something is wrong. This isn’t you. It’s Eilhart still manipulating you, it must be. I can help--”

“Enough,” her steely eyes flashed with anger at mention of Phillipa’s spell, another of her secrets that Iorveth and Geralt alone had kept closely guarded. “It pains me to see that the truth is so difficult for you to grasp, Iorveth, but I have made my decision. I will send guards to escort the Scoia’tael to a designated meeting place I’ve already established with the Nilfgaardian envoy. The exchange will happen today.”

Iorveth looked to his brethren, banded together, their eyes already shadowed with the heavy, haunted look of defeat. Only Eislenir stood tall, her proud face hard with suppressed fury, the edges of her hands trembling at her sides. The pain of Saskia’s betrayal was beginning to take hold, piercing through his disbelief and filling him with a familiar, caustic hatred. 

“Do you truly believe I’ll allow you to round up my people like cattle for the slaughter and simply hand us over?”

“Yes, if you are wise, which so far has not proven to be true. Sir Nyles, would you and your men remain here with the others? I’d like to speak with Iorveth alone.”

“My Queen, are you certain that is wise? It’s not safe--”

She silenced the nobleman with a sharp look. “I do not fear Iorveth. He has nothing to gain from harming me. Stay put.”

Saskia beckoned to Iorveth, and he had little choice but to follow as she led the way into a nearby guard tower. She closed the heavy door behind them, shutting out the rest of the world behind heavy stone and wood and iron. He waited for her to speak, not trusting what he would say should he open his mouth. 

“Help me facilitate a peaceful exchange, Iorveth, and most of your people will live.”

Iorveth stared at her coldly, arms crossed over his chest as they stood together in the small, dark room. “You’re mad.”

“I’m doing what’s best for Vergen, for Upper Aedirn.”

“Then you’re also stupid.”

She laughed mirthlessly and studied his face. “Coming from the elf that allowed himself to be so thoroughly and senselessly tamed by the touch of a woman?”

“I’ll openly admit that I was a fool for trusting you.”

“I know you refuse to believe it, but I’ve arranged the best outcome for your Scoia’tael that they could hope for.”

Iorveth leaned towards her and showed her a grin that was more grimace than smile, “You can take your happy outcome and shove it up your shapely ass.”

“Emhyr cares little about your shoddy band of brigands, but he does care about reputation,” she continued as if she had not heard him. “He knows your name and your face, and he knows that executing you would send a powerful message to all remaining Scoia’tael. He also knows that allowing most of those under your command to live would send a message of its own - that he is merciful to those willing to submit to his rule. He has shown this once before with Dol Blathanna. Reinforcing this message again will help to win the remaining Scoia’tael over to his side.”

“So very informed of your dh’oine king’s plans. Could it be you’ve already found another bed to warm?”

“Your can cease your petty insults, Iorveth, I haven’t had a choice--”

“You always have a choice,” he snapped, furious that she could even entertain such a cowardly idea.

His shaming accusation gave her pause, and for a moment he thought he saw a flicker of sadness cross her otherwise impassive face. “If it matters, this was never my plan.”

“It doesn’t, and you can spare me your explanations, as this will end the same regardless of what your reasons were. Tell me, instead, what happens next. You bring Emhyr my head and send my people...where?”

“They will be sent to Dol Blathanna, if they submit to Nilfgaardian law.”

“They won’t.”

“They may if you command them to. Iorveth, you must know how important this is. If they fail to submit, they will be executed, which is not my wish.”

Iorveth gave a bitter laugh, “Could’ve fooled me, given your willingness to open your gates to the enemy.”

“Iorveth, focus,” she demanded, her voice terse with exasperation. “There isn’t much time. Make your decision and go back to the Scoia’tael. Whatever you decide, I’ll be escorting you all to the meeting place. I strongly recommend that you help to resolve this peacefully, but it is your decision. If you instigate your elves to fight back, I will have you all killed to protect Vergen.”

“Death now, or death shortly after, what difference does it make?”

“I told you, they will live. In Dol Blathanna, with other Aen Seidhe, led by an Aen Seidhe.”

“An Aen Seidhe under direct dh’oine rule, no different from the wretched fools living in human cities now, watching their customs and beliefs and freedoms slowly be stripped away until all that makes them Aen Seidhe is taken from them? That’s no life. I’ve seen Dol Blathanna, as have many of my Scoia’tael. They’d rather die here, the one place where they’ve had a taste of freedom in all their lives.”

Saskia frowned and turned towards the door, “Their fate is in your hands, Iorveth. I will not argue with you further.” 

He wished to slam the door shut, to force her to stay and listen. He wished to scream at her, to demand answers, but he knew in his heart that it would be in vain. The woman he knew had disappeared overnight, stolen away by fear and desperation, or perhaps by greed, by the promise of something he could never give her. She left, and for a moment, Iorveth stood in silence, alone with his thoughts which grew heavier and darker with despair by the second. He remembered her laugh when they were alone together, her gentle touch as she tended his wounds, the warmth in her eyes. How could it all have been a lie? How could it have meant so little to her, when it had meant so much to him? 

A sickly cold washed over him again, and the wound at his shoulder seared suddenly with pain. He grimaced and forced the feeling away, bracing himself to return to his Scoia’tael, his mind made up at last. Iorveth shoved open the guard tower door and made his way back to his people. Eislenir watched him intently as he pushed past the dh’oine that Saskia had left to guard the area, her eyes searching his face for answers. 

“What will we do?” She asked in an urgent, hushed voice as soon as he was close. “Shall we prepare to fight?”

“No.”

“What, then, try to flee?”

“No. You’ll be killed if you flee.”

“We can make it past a few dh’oine--”

“Not likely. Maybe some would get away, but most would be killed. And even if you could get away, where would you go? Clearly Nilfgaard has soldiers lurking in the area.”

“What, then?” She crossed her arms, impatient for his command.

“You will allow yourselves to be taken to the envoy, do as you’re asked, and you will live.”

She shook her head in confusion, “I don’t understand. Saskia said we’re to be traded to Nilfgaard. They’ll execute us.”

“They’ll execute me. They’ll let you live and take you to Dol Blathanna, so long as you go peacefully.”

Eislenir stared at him, eyes wide at his suggestion, “You’re mad. We will not stand by and let them kill you, and we will not go to bloede Dol Blathanna.”

“I told Saskia as much, and I admire your courage, as I always have” Iorveth smiled wearily. “But it is my fault that we are here. I should have led us away after the battle, should have known they’d turn on us in the end. I should have been smarter, but I failed. The price is mine to pay, not yours.”

“Fuck that, Iorveth, and fuck your pride. We all chose to be here. The fault lies on the dh’oine who lied to us all and no one else.”

“It’ll matter little where the fault lies once Saskia returns. The choice is simple. Do as you’re told and survive, or all of us will be killed.”

“Then I choose to die.”

“Don’t be a fool. You’re not the only Aen Seidhe here. What of the others? Do as you’re told for their sake.”

“Shall we take a poll?” She snapped. “I know our people as well as you do, which means I know what their answer will be.”

“Eislenir--”

Their argument was cut short by Saskia’s arrival. A score of armored dh’oine walked at her side, weapons at their side, prepared to either escort the Scoia’tael out of the city or cut them all down. Saskia looked over the elves slowly before her eyes settled on Iorveth.

“Well? What decision have you made?”

“To cooperate,” Iorveth answered before Eislenir could speak. The she-elf bristled with anger, but Cyprius gently clutched his partner’s arm, silently urging her to stay still. 

“A wise choice,” Saskia turned to signal her soldiers.

She moved too quickly to be stopped, her small knife plunging into one of the dh’oine’s throats as her foot met his stomach, shoving him backwards as she pulled his hatchet from his belt. Eislenir clutched the hatchet in both hands and cried out, her scream shivering through the air. Saskia turned at the sound, and Eislenir leapt forward, bringing the hatchet down with all her strength into Saskia’s bare chest. The blade lodged exactly where her long scar had been before it had healed, instantly drawing forth a well of blood and a sickening crunch as steel met bone. Saskia’s eyes grew wide with alarm as she looked down at the hatchet protruding from her body, and her fingers slipped along the bloodied shaft in a feeble attempt to pull it out. She was quickly growing pale. As her hands fell to her sides, too weak to continue their attempt to pull out the weapon, she turned to Iorveth, and he watched as the fire in her eyes flickered once more with a strange, golden light, fighting against the fate that had already been sealed, and then went out. Her body fell to the ground and was still. Bodies moved around him, voices raised, weapons were drawn, but Iorveth could not look away from her corpse, her eyes still wide with grisly surprise, the hatchet still stuck in her chest as her blood pooled around her.

“Iorveth!” Eislenir screamed his name as the soldiers closed in around her, mailed hands grabbing her arms, her neck. Cyprius rushed instantly to her aid, drawing a hidden knife from beneath his tunic. One of the dh’oine moved in behind him and halted him with a sharp blow to the head while another ran him through with his sword. Eislenir shrieked with rage, tearing wildly at her captors with nails, teeth, all that she could. Iorveth moved to run towards her but found himself rooted in place as though fastened to the ground. He tried to draw his bow, but his hands were stuck at his sides. He could not shout, he could not even whisper. All he could do was watch in terror, heart beating furiously in his chest, as the soldiers struck her again and again. The world around him seemed to be falling apart, details blurring together, sounds distorting into a rush of incoherent noise. Eislenir’s bloodied face disappeared as they surrounded her, one drawing his sword and lifting it into the air to cut her down. He heard a scream, shrill with fear and pain, but monstrous and distorted. 

“Iorveth!”

Something struck him across the face, hard enough to bring stinging tears to the edges of his eye. He inhaled sharply, and it felt as though it was the first breath he had taken in years. The cool air raked into his lungs and bristled inside him, causing him to cough, which in turn proved to be very difficult and sent spikes of shooting pain through his body. He curled over in pain and felt the ground hit the left side of his body, though the sensation was dulled. Opening his eye, Iorveth was greeted with the sight of a gaping, bloodied maw and a pair of clouded eyes. Fear shot through him, and scrambled back and away from the monstrous face, his shoulder blades slamming into a stone wall in his hurry.

“Bloede!” His voice was hoarse, and his mouth tasted of blood and dirt. 

His fear spiked and began to recede as he recognized the monster as the one he had killed, and that its head was completely separated from its body. But that was not how he had killed the beast. Confusion and doubt itched at his thoughts, and he cast a wild gaze about himself. He was in a cave. There were bones, remnants of old armor, and the severed head and body of the beast, bleeding as if it had just been slain. All of this was visible only thanks to the light of a torch, which was in the hand of the witcher, who knelt beside him as Iorveth blinked hard to clear his vision. The witcher’s face finally eased into focus, and Iorveth recognized the scars, the white hair and strange, orange eyes immediately.

“Gwynbleidd,” he breathed in relief, and the panic itching through his body abated slightly as he identified his friend. The confusion, however, lingered. He looked back at the monster, at its bloodied mouth, and reached tentatively for his shoulder. Iorveth gasped as pain seared up through his neck and down his arm. “Where’s Saskia?”

“Saskia?” The witcher raised his brow in surprise. “In Vergen, worrying about you.”

Iorveth tried in vain to recall how he had gotten to the cave and shook his head sharply in hopes of clearing it. “I don’t understand.”

“Easy,” Geralt placed a heavily-gloved hand on his uninjured shoulder as encouragement to keep still. “You’re pretty badly wounded and have lost a lot of blood.”

“That...thing. I killed it. I remember killing it.”

Geralt glanced at the monster. “Then you did a shitty job. Had you tied up in here for at least a couple of days.”

“I don’t remember,” Iorveth winced as he pushed himself upright and sat against the stone.

“Not surprising. Alps can do that, at least older ones.”

“An alp?”

“Type of vampire. Alp saliva can knock a grown man unconscious, cause powerful nightmares, hallucinations. Probably tricked you into thinking you’d killed it to keep you passive while its poison started to kick in. Once you were out, it tied you up, and, judging by the wounds on your throat, fed on you. Sometimes alps will keep victims alive for weeks to have a consistent source of food. Not common for an alp to subdue multiple victims at a time, though. This one was powerful, been around awhile.”

The witcher moved to the corpse of the monster and kicked its body over with his heel. He hunched over the thing and began to pry something from its claws. When he turned back to Iorveth, he held a dirty length of cloth in his fingers, striped red and white. 

“This yours?” His brow furrowed as he recognized the coloration and pattern. “Saskia wears one like this, doesn’t she? Around her hair?”

Iorveth nodded, eyes locked on the cloth. His fingers slipped to his trouser pockets, the memory of him placing it there after Saskia forgot it during one of her visits returning. His pockets were empty. Geralt extended his hand, returning the cloth, and Iorveth took it slowly, clutching the filthy, blood-stained thing in the palm of his hand. The creature crawled over him, its gnarled hands holding him fast against the ground as he struggled, but his body was growing heavier, clumsy and cold. So cold. The creature’s face was close to his. He could hear his labored breathing, an odd bubbling issuing from its lungs. Its clouded eyes stared down into his, manic and wild. It moved over his body, searching his clothes. It seemed uninterested in his weapons, but it gave pause as it reached into one of his pockets and drew out the fabric, still sweetly scented with the perfume of her hair and skin...

“Powerful alps can use physical items in combination with emotional attachment to inflict a very intense, very realistic delusional state,” Geralt explained in a hushed, almost apologetic voice. “None of it was real.”

“Nightmares. Hallucinations,” Iorveth repeated, his memory beginning to return. You’re a terrorist, Iorveth, as are your Scoia’tael. The echoing words stung, as did the remembered look in Saskia’s eyes when she had spoken them. A shame, he thought, that that particular memory returned so quickly, or at all. “Have you found any others?”

“Not yet. You were the first I’d found, and the closest to the entrance. Will you be alright here on your own while I go deeper into the cave?”

“Should I expect another fanged bitch to leap out of the darkness and bite my throat?”

He thought he detected the trace of a smile on the witcher’s stony face. “No, that was the only one. Alps are solitary.” 

“Then I’ll be fine,” Iorveth slouched back against the stone in relief. “Give me a minute, and I’ll help you.”

Geralt shook his head, “No. Save your strength for the journey back to Vergen. I’ll let you know what I find soon enough. Here,” he handed Iorveth his torch. “You need this more than I do.”

“Hurry back.”

The witcher vanished into the darkness, and Iorveth closed his eye, inhaling his first, deep breath of relief. His heartbeat slowly resumed its normal pace, and feeling began to rush back into his limbs. There were vicious cuts around his biceps and chest, rope burns from where he had struggled against his restraints. He remembered none of that, but the evidence was clear enough. His mind, however, was recovering less quickly. Had all of what he had seen truly been imagined? And if so, how could he be certain the nightmares had ended? Surely it was possible he was still dreaming, still unconscious and at the mercy of the monster. The things he had felt before, the pain at Saskia’s betrayal, the dread of his death sentence, watching Saskia die...all of it had felt as real as the present. For a moment, he felt the weight of it all overwhelm him, and tears stung behind his eye. He bit back all of it, forcing it down, away. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his own palms, until he bled, and the pain cleared his mind, a pleasant reminder that he was still alive.

It seemed like ages before the witcher returned, but there were others with him, following weakly in a straight line as Geralt led them out of the darkness, a small flame born of witcher’s magic at his fingertips. Brenswyck was among them, gaunt and bleeding, but alive. He clasped his brethren’s hand in greeting and allowed himself a small smile of gratitude that the young elf had survived. Others had not been so lucky.

“Are these the only survivors?”

Geralt looked back at those behind him and nodded grimly, “Sorry.”

Less than half of those that had left on the patrols remained, and several were in bad shape. Iorveth looked one last time to the monster’s corpse, a deep and hateful revulsion washing over him. With some effort, he pushed himself to his feet, eager to be gone from the wretched cave and all that had happened within it. Geralt offered his shoulder for support, and Iorveth gladly accepted it, his head spinning with exertion from just standing up. Together, they exited the cave and slowly made their way up the hill outside. Geralt whistled a single note, shrill and high, and was answered with a whinny. Roach, that was the ridiculous moniker he had given the beast. The horse drew near, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood and rot that hung over all of them. Geralt helped a particularly badly-wounded human up onto Roach’s back and strapped the man in place to keep him mounted. They set off together, the road slow-going as they limped along, but Iorveth could only be grateful. 

“Gwynbleidd,” he paused, his thoughts still heavy with all of the false memories the alp had planted. “These creatures, alps...have you heard of the nightmares they inflict being prophetic?”

The witcher studied him for a long moment, his grim face pensive. At last, he shook his head, “There’s a scholar, can’t remember his name, who wondered the same thing. Never found any proof that that was the case. Makes sense. Alps, vampires...they’re just monsters. Clever, maybe, but not intelligent enough to use higher magic. Whatever it made you see, they were hallucinations only. Do you remember what you dreamt?”

“Unfortunately.”

Geralt nodded, “I’ve heard the hallucinations start off pleasant, when the poison is at its strongest. To keep the victim sedated. As the chemicals wear off and the victim’s body fights back, they grew more and more twisted. The alp usually makes the kill soon after.”

Iorveth heeded the witcher’s words with a dulled sense of dread. “Then I thank you for coming to Vergen, and I especially thank you for arriving when you did. I would’ve died there if not for you. Will you stay in Vergen for awhile? No doubt Saskia will have a reward prepared for you.”

“Maybe. I should get back on the Path, but it would be good to catch up with Zoltan and Dandelion.”

The walls of Vergen loomed ahead at last, torches lit against the impending twilight. As the patrol spotted them and cried out in greetings, Iorveth shuddered at the eerily-familiar scene. Whatever it made you see, they were hallucinations only. As they entered the city, people rushed forward to meet them. Eislenir was among the first, stopping briefly to clap Iorveth on the arm in thanks and rushing to embrace Brenswyck. Saskia approached, face pale and drawn with worry, Zoltan and Cecil at her heels. Zoltan threw his arms up in greetings at first sight of the witcher.

“Geralt! Bugger me, you all look terrible!”

Iorveth limped to a nearby wall and leaned against, thankful to still be standing as he watched the reunion unfold. Saskia was moving through the crowd, checking in with the survivors, but her eyes continued to stray back to him. When she had dutifully finished her rounds, she slipped out of the crowd and drew near, pausing as she noted his wounds. 

“You’re injured. Let me help you.”

He wanted to retreat from her. Each time he looked at her, he could only hear her speaking words she never said, but the mistrust these imaginary words had spawned was real enough and difficult to put to rest. He felt vulnerable, his emotions raw. Yet, Iorveth was tired and undoubtedly in need of help. He stepped away from the wall, staving off his fatigue until the moment he could fall into his bed, but was instantly swept up in Saskia’s embrace. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him as tightly as she could while remaining conscientious of his wounds. HIs breath hitched in surprise, and he glanced at the crowd over her shoulder. More than a couple of people were watching, though most had the decency to avert their eyes once he had spotted them. She released him slowly, her hands taking his own and squeezing them reassuringly. 

“Oth--,” Iorveth cleared his throat, chasing away the uncertainty that made his voice waver, “others may have just witnessed that.”

“Others be damned,” her steely eyes gleamed with defiance. “Iorveth, I was so worried for you. I...I thought I sent you to your death. I was such a fool.”

The faintest glimmer shone in her eyes as unbidden tears threatened to appear. Saskia fiercely chased them away, as she was wont to do, and slipped his arm about her waist. 

“Come, let me help you. Let’s get you home.”

Iorveth accepted her help and leaned some of his weight upon her. They departed the crowd together, and he was certain he saw the witcher watching them as they made their way further into the city. With her help, the way home was surprisingly easy and blessedly quick. She helped him inside and onto his bed, propping up some pillows behind him so that he could recline comfortably. Saskia wasted no time in preparing a fire, boiling some water, undressing him, and setting to work on cleaning his wounds. She tended to the smaller ones first, the cuts from the ropes and defensive slashes and scraps. Finally, she turned to the prominent bite wound. In truth, it was multiple wounds from where the beast had apparently fed several times. She rinsed the deep gouges with warm water, then cast him an apologetic glance and covered the same area in alcohol. Iorveth’s head spun with pain, his vision blurring from involuntary tears. The wounds were deep and several days old, undoubtedly beginning to fester in places. As unpleasant as it was, the cleaning was necessary. 

When Saskia was at last satisfied with her work, she bandaged the area as best she could, though the position of the wound made binding it tightly awkward. Still, his shoulder was in far better shape than it had been, and as she drew away, he caught her hand and squeezed it gently in gratitude.

“Thank you,” he rasped weakly, his voice all but gone.

“There’s no need,” she murmured, her brow heavy with poorly-masked guilt. She turned away.

“Saskia,” Iorveth pushed himself up and over the bed far enough to reach for his discarded trousers. He rummaged through a pocket and drew it forth before holding it out to her. “I...forgot to return it to you. I’m sorry.”

She reached out her hand tentatively and gently took the red-and-white striped cloth from him. She held it before her, studying the filthy, tattered cloth, her eyes awash with emotions and thoughts, none of which she gave voice to. Instead, she clutched it to her and reached for him with her free hand, gently pushing back a few strands of his hair that had fallen over his face. 

“Sleep, now. We’ll speak more tomorrow, if you are feeling able.”

Iorveth leaned back into the pillows, content to do as she ordered, and she pulled a fur over his bare chest. He closed his eye, his ears perked for several minutes for the tell-tale sounds of the door and her departure, but they did not come. He opened his eye just slightly to find her seated next to him in the chair she had pulled up beside his bed, her own eyes closed, her chin fallen forward against her chest. Her chest rose and fell slowly with the makings of weary sleep. Her hand still clutched the cloth he had returned to her. Surrounded by the pleasant sounds of a crackling hearth and her soft, sleepy breathing, Iorveth closed his eye and hoped with a twinge of desperation that the nightmares had ceased at last.


	9. She Who Reigns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saskia struggles with Iorveth’s rekindled wariness. Saskia recalls her and Iorveth’s first meeting and the beginnings of their alliance. Saskia’s POV.

He was avoiding her. From the moment she had set eyes on him when he, the witcher, and the others had returned from the forest, Saskia sensed that something had changed. He did his best to hide it when they were near each other, but the openness she had enjoyed with him in recent weeks was lost. And, he was avoiding her. Though he always appeared when summoned, there were no more chance encounters in the streets, no traded looks, no warm words when they were alone, and she certainly had not been brave enough to attempt another evening visit to his home. When she dismissed the Council from a meeting, Iorveth made certain he was never the last to leave. 

The day they had returned, Iorveth had allowed her to help him home, to dress his wounds. He had slept the next day through, fitfully turning and speaking incoherently as if plagued by bad dreams. Saskia had stayed at his side, passing the time by tidying up his home as much as she could without being intrusive. As the day wore on, she fetched vegetables from a garden the citizens of Vergen tended together and boiled them into a stew. Eventually, he had woken and gratefully accepted her offering. She sat beside him while he ate and pressed him for details of what had happened. He told her of a cave, of the monster within, of having been sedated and tied up, fed upon by the creature, all of which he remembered only faintly. He told her he had been stuck within a nightmare, but when she asked him for more, he refused to describe what he had seen in those dark dreams. After that, that was when she truly noticed the change, a reversion back to a place they had already been and one they had both fought so hard together to put to rest in the past. The look in his eye when he looked at her now, it reminded her so much of how he had looked at her when they first met those years ago.

\---

The soldiers’ ill-tempers had been mounting all morning, but now, with the sun high and hot, their rations running low, and several among them weakened from disease, their wounds, or simply from fatigue, the mood of the human camp was turning especially foul. They were a reconnaissance unit, meant simply to scout the area and report back to their commander, but they had been taken by surprise by a group of hostile and well-armed bandits a couple of days prior and had not fared well in the resulting skirmish. They were due to report back in, but few among them were fit to travel. To further their worries, their nerves were on edge from rumors they had heard of a band of Scoia’tael roaming the area. The result was an overbearing cloud of fear, and from that fear, a growing and deepening agitation in those still fit to fight. She could smell their unease, see the trouble brewing in each kicked-over barrel, each knife cast into a makeshift target that hung from a nearby tree.

“We need to do something. We’ll be out of supplies in three days’ time if we keep at it like this. And if I have to spend another night with a stomach full of grass and shitty water--,” the man threw his knife. It bounced off of his target and clattered to the floor, and he cursed and spat. 

“Shut it, Desmond, yer bitchin’ won’t help anythin’.”

“Don’t tell me to shut it, Wren!” The man called Desmond threw another knife, and this one stuck in the target. He jutted his jaw out in satisfaction. “We ought to pay a little visit to that camp of stinkin’ elves we saw aways back. They looked like they had a right overabundance of food.”

“I thought you didn’t want a belly o’ grass. Elves only eat nuts, berries, that forest shite, you ploughin’ moron,” Wren shook his head at his comrade’s stupidity. 

Desmond glowered doubtfully, “Even so, what right do they have to fill their bellies when we’re barely scrapin’ by? Ploughin’ pointy-eared freaks. They’re probably the ones that killed Harvis and his men not a few weeks back.”

“Harvis got his throat slit by Scoia’tael. Those elves we saw weren’t no Scoia’tael. They barely had a sword between the lot of ‘em. They’s just peasant folk, not fighters.”

“An elf’s an elf,” Desmond spat again. “And the only good elf is a dead elf.”

There were murmurs of agreement, heads lifting from their famished delirium to acknowledge their support of Desmond’s recycled motto. Saesenthessis knew of the elven village of which the men spoke. She had watched them for some time, studied how they interacted with one another, learned bits and pieces of their language. They identified themselves as Aen Seidhe, a name they spoke with as much pride as they could muster given the poverty they lived in, ever fearful of having what little they had snatched away from them by human hands. Despite their hardships, they were good to each other, walked with respect amongst the trees, shared their affections freely, and, when able, they danced around their campfires well into the long summer evenings. She liked those nights, liked the sound of their laughter and the way their voices rose together in song.

The men were beginning to stir, Desmond’s idea of raiding the elven encampment for food and supplies gaining traction. There looked to be only eight or nine men capable of fighting, but given the sharpness and number of their weapons compared to those of the nearby Aen Seidhe, that was surely enough to disband the elven camp if not decimate it altogether. After no small amount of shouting, stomping, and spitting in an odd display of arousing themselves for the attack, the band of men started out to the north, trekking quickly towards the village. Saesenthessis lingered back long enough to undress, hide her garments, and subtly slip into her other skin, then proceeded to follow their tracks at some distance. The men grew quieter as they drew near the camp, their faces darkening with resolve as they steeled themselves for the fight. Saesenthessis knew she ought not to interfere - what place did she have deciding who should starve and who should survive? But her heart ached as she thought of the elves she had come to know in her own way falling to the sword. With the village just in view, the men paused, eyes scanning the area as they assessed, all waiting for the command of their makeshift leader, the man called Desmond. 

He grinned darkly, fingering the hilt of his blade, “If we see any of them pretty elf maids, let’s drag ‘em back to camp for a bit of fun.”

Wren snorted in objection, “Why bother draggin’ ‘em back to camp? May as well have our fun right here.”

“Do what you want. I’m thinkin’ about me future. Who’ll warm me bed tomorrow night? You?”

Wren muttered something under his breath but argued no more. Saesenthessis watched from the shadows of the forest, her muscles knotting and unknotting in vexation at their words. Like a sudden spear of light cutting through the total darkness of a starless night, certainty flooded her thoughts and warmed her blood. Her hesitancy to act dissipated, giving way to a pure and righteous anger. These men would charge down upon the village below, and they would fail. She stalked around to the side as they began to advance forward towards their quarry. Her lungs roiled with heat, her imagination vividly suggesting what the fate of the quiet Aen Seidhe would look like without her assistance, and she had to force a calm upon herself as she waited for the men to make their move. But something else caught her eye. She was not alone in the forest.

Amidst the trees, lithe and battle-hardened bodies slipping through the shadows like phantoms. Aen Seidhe. But they were quite unlike the elves in the village below. Some had faces painted to better match the foliage, all held weapons and wore armor, most of which looked as though it had been looted off the bodies of various human soldiers. At the front of their tightly-knit group stood one, a male, who looked even more unusual than his comrades. The right side of his face was covered in a red bandana, the trace of a deep and jagged scar just visible beneath it. His armor was decorated in trinkets, what appeared to be trophies of his many battles. His eye was cold, his face gaunt and hard. And the Aen Seidhe crouched around him, bows held at the ready, their faces patient and attentive for his signal. A word spoken by the humans before they had marched on the village echoed in her thoughts. Scoia’tael. 

The Aen Seidhe commander lifted his hand, and the elves notched their arrows, drawing them back and taking aim at the humans poised to charge. Her heart raced as the humans burst forth from where they hid, shouting and hooting like animals as they began their charge towards the village. Screams of alarm rose from the camp, piercing the air as men and women rushed to grab their children and seek shelter. The elven commander’s muscles twitched as he prepared to give another signal, but she could not let it happen. Their volley of arrows would kill a few of the men, she was certain, but they would not kill all. In the time it took them to ready their bows for a second round, they would be facing the swords of the human soldiers, and in close combat, there was likely to be more than just human blood spilled. 

The elves silently drew their bows, their bowstrings straining taut as they marked their targets, and Saesenthessis burst forward through the trees, the muscles in her legs coiling and releasing, launching herself past the elves and into the open. Her wings opened around her, hiding the Scoia’tael behind her and heralding her true size as her roar boomed, her fiery breath sucking the oxygen from the air. The battle cries of the men turned to screams of terror as she bounded towards the village, her belly low to the ground, her tail whipping behind her. They stumbled backwards over themselves, hardly able to raise their weapons before she was upon them. She wished to engulf them all in flames, watch them dance in agony as they burned, but she could not risk setting fire to the encampment. Instead, she lashed out with claw and fang, trampling those nearest beneath her and sending others flying with the swipe of a muscled arm. Only poor Desmond attempted to hold his ground - she snapped him up in her jaws and crushed him, hastily dropping his broken body from her mouth to avoid the bitter taste of his death. 

The small knot of men soon lay in ruins, their cries silenced, their terrible deeds left undone. The elves of the village stared at her in terror, those that had not made it to shelter before her arrival. They clutched at stones, sticks, their hands trembling as they gathered what remained of their courage to defend themselves. Saesenthessis turned away, wings spreading as her back legs pushed her forward, then up. She took to the air, keeping low, and hurriedly turned towards the nearby clearing and hidden cave she had taken to sheltering in. Gliding above the treetops, she dropped roughly into the clearing, her shape melting around her as she returned to her human form. She took a moment to catch her breath and to chase away the wave of nausea and dizziness that inevitably followed the transformation. As she leaned forward, hands pressed to her thighs to catch her breath, a drop of blood rolled down her brow and into her eye. She wiped it away, uncertain if it was her blood or the blood of a man. Seeking out the hollow of a familiar tree, Saesenthessis retrieved a simple change of clothes: patched breeches, a poorly-fitted tunic, and a pair of flat, thin shoes crafted from worn leather. She dressed quickly, but not quickly enough. As she pulled the tunic over her torso, Saesenthessis felt the cold, creeping chill of danger, of an arrow aimed at the back of her neck, and froze. She lowered her arms slowly and turned her head, just enough to see the edge of the clearing. He waited there, bow drawn and ready, but alone. 

She knew only pieces of his native language, so she chose the Common Tongue instead. “If you intend to kill me, a single arrow will not grant your wish.” It was a bluff. A skilled archer could indeed kill her with one shot in this form, but she thought it very unlikely that he would know this or take the gamble.

“Why did you help us?”

“I didn’t. Or rather, my helping you was a side effect of my true intention. I followed those men to protect the elves of the village.”

“Why?”

Saesenthessis considered his question. Why had she helped them? She admired them, true, but the reality was simpler still. “Because it was right.”

She turned to face him and winced slightly, the presence of a wound at her side suddenly becoming apparent. The elf’s single eye dropped to her side, to the blood stain beginning to show through her tunic. His gaze returned to her face for a moment, boring into her with a remarkable clarity, and he slowly lowered his weapon. 

“They say the blood of a dragon is a powerful thing.”

She returned his gaze fiercely, her senses on edge as she considered the numerous meanings of his words. “If you wish to take it, you will die trying, just as those men died.” 

The elf laughed softly, the sound surprisingly gentle. “That is not my intention. I came to find out why you acted as you did, to determine whether you acted with reason rather than instinct. And, if so, I came to express my gratitude. Thank you. Some of my people would have died, if not for you.”

Her eyes traced his every move as the elf returned his bow and arrow to their places on his back. He swiped away a thin sheen of sweat from his face with the back of his hand and gestured roughly at her side. 

“We can help you clean your wound, bandage it.”

“No,” she shook her head, her windswept hair falling about her face. “I’m fine. Dragons heal quickly.” She lifted the edge of her tunic slightly to show him the remnants of the wound, the long cut already drawing itself closed. 

The elf lifted his brow in surprise. “An enviable talent.”

“Though not without its costs,” she agreed with a faint smile, choosing not to elaborate. 

He studied her for a moment, his gaze clouded as if he had several questions on his mind but could not decide which to ask. Saesenthessis used the time to more closely observe her guest. Outside of the shaded forest canopy and under the full light of day, he was even more striking than he had first appeared. He was tall and lean, but more muscular than most Aen Seidhe she had seen. His body was almost entirely covered in armor, though the skin of his upper chest and neck were visible under a wide collar. Up the left side of his neck crept a tattoo, the entirety of which was hidden. From what she could see, the tattoo was surprisingly beautiful: delicate leaves on thin, curling branches. His large, emerald eye heralded the characteristic, alluring beauty of the Aen Seidhe, but the bandana over his face and the deep scar creeping out from under it dulled that beauty, making him appear quite harsh. Where many elves she had seen wore their hair long and free, his was either kept short or hidden beneath his bandana, with just a few errant strands visible at the side of his face. Furthering the look, his gaze was sharp with a cold, focused cunning, a trait that set him and his Scoia’tael apart from other elves she had observed. The result made him seem older than he looked, though she found it difficult to measure the age of his species visually. There was no doubt, however, that he was a seasoned warrior, accustomed to battle, and to killing.

“When you spoke of why you decided to help my people, you said ‘because it was right.’ I’ve heard tales of your kind, and little would suggest that dragons make a habit of philosophizing over right and wrong or caring about the fate of other species.”

Saesenthessis laughed at the irony of his statement, “You mean you’ve never heard tales about an entire race that were misrepresentative? You’ve never known cliches to be exaggerated, or simply wrong? And how many of ‘my kind’ have you known yourself, Aen Seidhe?”

The elf was silent, her words seeming to have impacted him more than she had expected. After a moment, his shoulders drooped lightly, and the blatant look of mistrust he had held in his eye seemed to retreat a bit. “I...apologize.”

“No need,” Saesenthessis moved towards the center of the clearing and the currently-vacant firepit she had constructed. She sat beside it on a roughly-hewn stool she had fashioned from the remnants of a tree trunk and gestured to a spot near her. “Instead, join me, share a fire with me, and we can take the time to learn more about each other. I suspect that we have some things in common.”

He hesitated, watching her every move with wary focus. But whatever reservations he had, he chose to push them aside for the time being. He strode through the clearing, scooping up kindling and larger branches as he walked, and sat where she had instructed while she began to prepare a fire.

\---

“You should speak with him.”

“What?”

Saskia blinked, snapping out of her reverie, and found the witcher at her side. The rest of the Council, Iorveth included, had gone, and she had been watching Iorveth walking towards his home from the window of the great stone room in which they had held their meeting. A slight chill crept over her as she realized she was alone with him. The witcher had aided them greatly in their fight for Vergen, yet something about him still made her terribly uneasy - perhaps the fact that he was a legendary monster-hunter and she a dragon, a creature considered by most to be very monstrous.

“Iorveth. You should speak with him about what happened.”

She shifted her weight uncomfortably from one hip to the other, “I’ve tried. He’ll barely speak with me at all, let alone about the cave.”

“He will. He trusts you.”

“He used to,” she turned away from the window and to the witcher, carefully studying his grizzled countenance. “He trusts you as well, it seems. Has he spoken to you?”

“A bit,” the witcher shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “When I found him, he was close to dying and deeply influenced by the alp’s toxin. He seemed shaken when he awoke, asked me where you were. Didn’t tell me much more than that. Whatever he dreamt of in the cave, it seems...deeply personal. Not likely something Iorveth will share with me, or anyone, except maybe you,” the witcher paused as if debating whether to continue.

“Tell me,” she commanded.

“Iorveth asked me if the hallucinations imposed by an alp could be prophetic,” he admitted. 

“And?”

“And I told him the truth. Which is no, as far as anyone knows.”

Saskia considered his words for a moment, then bowed her head. “Thank you, Geralt.”

“I gave you my impression of how things stand in Aedirn and outside of it. I’d guess you’ll see banners in Upper Aedirn within a couple of weeks. You’re well-prepared. With luck, Vergen could make it.”

She winced a little at the bluntness of his words but was grateful for his honesty. “Will you stay? Fight with us, if it comes to it?”

“I can’t...I’m sorry,” he sounded sincere, and when she looked to him, he lowered his cat’s gaze. “I’ve been tracking someone...someone I need to find. And I’m close. I can’t let the trail get cold. And if Nilfgaard and the Northern Realms really are set on going to war again, I can’t be caught between them.”

“Ah, yes,” she smiled faintly. “The infamous ‘witcher’s neutrality.’ Though it’s something of a passing fancy for you, isn’t it?”

His mouth formed a grim line, but he did not challenge her accusation. She regretted saying it, true as it was, but she could not bring herself to apologize. Instead, she turned to the window once more and spoke, her voice soft.

“Will you leave soon, then?”

“Tomorrow,” he confirmed. “I promised Dandelion and Zoltan I’d spend the afternoon rolling dice with them.”

“Then I thank you again, witcher, and wish you well in your search. Before you leave tomorrow, visit Cecil Burdon once more. He will have tended to your horse and will have supplies ready for you.”

“Your grace,” the witcher bowed slightly, awkwardly, in a motion he clearly was not accustomed to. She observed the gesture with a smile, and nodded her appreciation as he turned for the door.

\---

“Why a dh’oine?”

She glanced up from sharpening her sword in the way he had shown her, her brow arched in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve told me how you’ve spent a lot of time observing Aen Seidhe, yet the form you take when we talk is that of a dh’oine, a human,” he sat on the ground, his shoulders hunched in concentration as he re-strung his bow. 

“Ah,” she placed her sword in her lap, the memory as clear in her mind as if it happened just days ago. In truth, it had been years. “This form, this,” she raised her hand, flexed her thin fingers, “this is a tribute, of sorts, a memory - my way of remembering a woman I saw when I was young, a woman I shall never forget.”

The memory still tugged at her, the woman’s lifeless face still an image she revisited often. Iorveth was watching her, expectantly waiting for her to elaborate. One thing she had learned about the Scoia’tael commander so far was that he was nothing if not persistent. She looked at him at last, and her shoulders sagged in submission.

“I don’t know who she was, exactly, whether she was a noblewoman or a peasant, though I suppose it doesn’t matter. She was already dead when I found her, slain by bandits while traveling on a merchant’s road. The scent of death is what drew me. It was the first time i had seen, firsthand, the horrible things humans do to one another. The bandits were still in the area, rummaging through the wagon the woman had been riding next to. They were laughing and bragging about what they’d done. They’d hurt her before they killed her, made her suffer. And they were mocking her,” she paused, her face growing taut with anger as the memory flashed behind her eyes.

“They....they’d used some child, an orphan, to lure the woman away from the wagon. She heard the child crying and went to investigate. When she was far enough away, they slew the wagon driver and pulled her from her horse. The bandits...they bragged about how she pleaded with them. They hurt her, then they killed her. They left her body in the open, discarded like it was nothing, her clothes torn and bloody. So I ripped them all apart and left their entrails hanging from the trees. They killed that woman and called her weak for her compassion. No one should ever have their empathy twisted in such a way. No one should have to pay for being compassionate with their life. When I saw her face, heard her story from the mouths of those who had ended it, I vowed to fight for compassion and for justice ever onwards. Her life was snatched from her unfairly. It only felt right to help her live on in what small way that I could.”

She took a long breath to steady herself, her fingers trembling at the intensity of the memory. When she closed her eyes, she could still smell the blood, taste their fear as she chased every last one down. Revolted and nauseous, she set her sword on the ground and paced away from the fire towards the edge of the clearing, grateful for the cool evening breeze. Footsteps rustled in the leaves behind her, and she turned to find him a short distance away, her sword in his hands. 

“Many would believe me to be a monster, if they saw me. But even a monster knows that what those men did was wrong, evil. It’s...difficult for me to understand. What drives them to do such things?”

Iorveth smiled grimly, his emerald eye glinting in the glare cast by the fire. “It’s in their nature. Perhaps not all, but enough. They harbor a constant to need to fight, to kill. And if they cannot find a reason to do so, they invent one. They prefer to target those least like themselves, but in the absence of a suitable target, they’ll turn on each other, their own women, their children.”

She knew his heart was filled with an anger borne from years of persecution and violence, knew his words were exaggerated, his experiences one-sided. She had seen goodness. She had seen humans care for one another. But exaggerated or no, Saesenthessis could not deny that there was some truth to his words. He stepped forward, hands outstretched, and offered her sword. She picked up the blade and ignored the resulting ache in her shoulders. Her body slipped into the pose, as he had shown her, and she lifted the blade to guard herself. He drew his own sword and began to circle. The last, dying rays of the sun glinted off of their weapons as he lunged forward, testing her stance. She twisted and parried, the clashing of their swords drawing her focus and chasing away the unpleasant echoes of the past.

\---

“Iorveth!”

His back tensed at the sound of her voice. For a moment, she thought he might actually flee, pretend that he had not heard her and vanish down a sideroad. Fortunately, he spared her the unpleasantness of having to chase him down, and turned to face her. The street was flooded with amber light from a sun growing heavy with the impending dusk. It illuminated him, filled his eye with a warm glow, and drew earthy tones from his hair. Her heart lifted at the sight of him, and more than anything she wished to embrace him, to wrap her arms around him and have his arms around her. She longed to breath in his scent, to feel his skin against hers. She longed for him to look at her in the way he had before when they were together, alone. Quelling the rising emotions within her, she strode forward with purpose. He awaited her, arms folded over his chest, and nodded in greetings when at last she stood before him.

“Good evening, S--”

“Shove your polite greetings and ‘good evenings.’ You are running away from me, Iorveth, it’s time for us to talk.”

His arms loosened from his chest and slowly fell to his sides in surprise. “What--”

“You’ve been avoiding me ever since you returned from the cave. The witcher believes you dreamt of terrible things while sedated by that monster. He thinks you’re either too proud or too afraid to tell anyone about what happened to you, perhaps even me. But he’s wrong. You’re going to talk to me. Because you need to talk to me. Enemies will be at our gates in a matter of days, and I cannot stand against them, before all our friends and all of those we’re responsible for, if you’re not with me. Do you understand?”

Iorveth stared at her for a long moment, his eye glittering with defiance, but his stubbornness faded as he looked into her eyes, which were bright and open and filled with the need she felt within her to be close to him again. He nodded, and she took his hand in hers. 

“Walk with me.”

They wandered Vergen’s streets together as night began to fall. There were a few other civilians in the streets as well going about their daily tasks, and more than a few pairs of eyes fell upon them, noting their entwined hands. If the sight of it spawned whispers and questions, no one came forward, and if these whispers were uttered in private and began to spread, Saskia no longer cared. 

“Saskia, are you certain--?”

“Yes,” she squeezed his hand in her own. “Now, tell me.”

And so he did. As they walked, he described all that he had seen, starting with the good, their evening together in his bed. He told her of what he had felt, his happiness, his sense of peace. Then, he spoke of the nightmare, of her betrayal of him and the Aen Seidhe, of his death sentence and the decision he had made to protect his people. He told her of her death. She listened in silence, her heart growing heavier as he continued. When he finished, she led them to a spot she frequented in Vergen’s higher tier - a small, grassy space overlooking the city near some crumbled stone where once a wall had fallen inward. Saskia sat amidst the soft grass and beckoned for him to join her. He did so, and for a while they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. At last, she took his hand in hers once more, her fingers tracing gently over the details of his glove. She raised her head and found him watching her, his face weary and no longer guarded. 

“The truth is, I did wonder if such a future could come to pass when I first awoke in that cave,” Iorveth confessed. “But after that first night home,” he shook his head. “I knew none of it was real and would never be. The truth, and the reason I’ve been avoiding you, is that of everything I saw in the nightmare, everything I felt...the worst part of it all was losing you.”

He took her hand in his, his head bowed as if to hide from her response. Saskia moved closer to him and leaned her head against his armored shoulder. A moment later, she felt the gentle press of his own head against hers.

“The battles to come, we may not be victorious. I’m afraid--” he paused, drawing a long breath that shuddered through his body. “You must not die.”

“We fight together. All of us.”

“Saskia, please…”

She blinked back unbidden tears and turned her face into his coat, breathing him in as she had longed to. The sound of her name on his lips and the scent of him, now so wonderfully familiar, evoked another memory of a time when they were barely more than strangers. Even then, she had felt a kinship with the elf beside her, and he had shown her a respect she now knew he reserved for so few. She smiled softly against him, embracing the thoughts and feelings that the memory reawakened.

\---

She stretched her wings out once more before folding them to her sides, shaking her long torso contentedly as she paced through the clearing. Her flight had carried her high over the mountains, and a thin sheen of ice quickly melted from her body and ran down over her pale green scales. He had been waiting for her. He emerged from the forest, one arm occupied with a large, heavy-looking sack, and smiled in greetings. Her nostrils flared, taking in his scent - it was the first time she could separate him out from all else, and she committed it to memory. Saesenthessis repositioned herself and sank to the ground, drawing her legs in towards her sides. She lowered her head and tilted it slightly to better see him. 

“I...had some thoughts I wished to share with you. Is this a good time?”

She inclined her head slightly in response, and he stepped forward, picking a spot in the grass to sit down. He removed his sword from his belt and made himself comfortable, crossing his legs. She lowered her head to the ground so that her eye was at his level. 

“You told me you like Aedirn, that you wish to start here. I think it’s a good plan. But as we discussed before, you’ll need a story, and you’ll need a name. I think many will gravitate to you naturally, given your stance on equality, especially the lower classes and of course the non-humans. But I think you’ll need something else, something more, to make you truly memorable. I think you need a legend. The Scoia’tael could start the rumor, spread it throughout Aedirn. Tell it to the other non-humans first, then to human commonfolk, then merchants. You need something that will emphasize your strength and your bravery. I thought, perhaps...you could claim the title of ‘Dragonslayer.’ Only witchers are supposed to be able to slay dragons, but a human and a woman...if your tale spread far enough, no one would dare to doubt your authority.”

Saskia exhaled a cloud of smoke from her nostrils in her variation of a laugh, her tail flicking with mirth. Iorveth laughed nervously, but she tilted her head towards him, just enough to genty bump against him, assuring him that she was pleased with his ideas.

“My Scoia’tael and I will be moving on soon. There are too many dh’oine beginning to suspect our whereabouts. The village should be safe again, for now. Likely, they’ll be glad to see us go. Our presence puts them in greater danger every day. A few are coming with us as new recruits. Mostly, they’re raw, completely untrained, but they’ll learn. There’s one, a young female, who has potential. She’s already quite good with a bow. I think she’ll do well.” To her dismay, he ceased his musings, suddenly aware of how much he was carrying on. In truth, she liked listening to him. But instead, he posed a question to her. “Have you picked a name?”

She gave a soft growl and began to glow with a pale, golden light. Iorveth understood and turned himself away from her. She found it odd that he exhibited such modesty to a dragon, but she found it endearing as well. Her edges faded and receded. Her long limbs retracted, hardened scales replaced with soft, smooth skin. The fire in her lungs cooled, and she exhaled a thin plume of smoke as her true form melted away. Her toes curled into the earth, savoring the feeling, as she walked to the hollow tree and retrieved her clothes. Once dressed, she returned to his side and gently touched his shoulder. 

“Saskia,” she smiled. “Saskia the Dragonslayer.”

He laughed softly and nodded. “Very well. Saskia the Dragonslayer, I have something for you.” He retrieved the bag he was carrying when he arrived and handed it to her. “It isn’t much, certainly you’ll need something far better,” he warned. 

Her curiosity piqued, she opened the bag, eyes widening as she pulled out the chestplate, matching pauldrons and greaves. 

“I couldn’t find a full matching set, but I think this is a good start, at least for now. They should fit, generally,” he rambled, “but you may need to have them adjusted. It’s...I found them and had a smith I know modify the chestplate to better fit your shape--”

She grinned broadly at him, her heart rising with gratitude. “Thank you, Iorveth” she murmured, her voice hoarse from the smoke. “Truly. I’ve...never received a gift before, and certainly not one such as this.”

“It’s nothing,” he lowered his head humbly.

“It’s far more than that,” she assured him and began to pull on the chestplate. He moved to help her tighten the straps. Grinning, she shifted from foot to foot in her new armor, gauging its weight and balance. For a moment, she felt as if she were in her true form once more, safely guarded behind her scales. She retrieved her sword from near the firepit and smiled at him. “Well? Shall we test it?”

\---

His fingers were running slowly up and down the bare skin of her arm, a pleasurable sensation that sent a slight chill through her. The darkness had fallen around them, and the streets were quiet and empty. They felt pleasantly alone. 

“Iorveth,” she whispered, “thank you. For everything.”

He tensed, his fingers ceasing their path along her skin. “We’re not finished, my Queen.”

“I know. Even so, thank you. Whatever happens, I wouldn’t have had this chance if not for you.”

He moved away from her slightly, just enough to be able to turn and face her. “All that you have done, you have accomplished through your own will and strength. Every battle you’ve won, every heart you’ve inspired. We’ve--I’ve--fought by your side because I believe in you, in what you stand for.”

Saskia smiled softly, immensely grateful for the kindness of his words, but shook her head slightly. “I thank you, but this city, this freedom, it’s not my dream alone. I know how much you’ve sacrificed to make it here. And, regardless of what happens, I’ll never forget it.”

She brought her hand to his face, ran her thumb along his cheekbone and down over his lips. She ached to pull him to her, to press her lips to his and feel his body against hers. She longed to touch him, but she feared his response, feared that uncertainty still lingered in his thoughts. Her fears were soon dispelled. He drew her to him suddenly and kissed her hard, his fingers curling gently into her hair. Saskia gasped, pleasurably startled by the hunger behind his kiss. Her fingers closed around his biceps, and she leaned back into the grass, urging him to join her. He did so, settling himself on his forearms above her, his hips between her legs. She laughed softly with mounting delight as he kissed her neck and collarbone. Her laughs turned to breathy gasps as he moved lower and kissed the top of her chest just above the neckline of her armor. He pressed himself between her legs, and she suppressed a moan, her fingers curling into the front of his jacket. He groaned softly at her response and bent to gently kiss her ear.

“Perhaps we should seek someplace a bit more private? If you’d like?”

No suggestion had ever sounded better. A faint blush of excitement rose to her cheeks, a reaction that seemed to please him judging by what she could feel of him still pressed between her legs.

“Yes,” she nodded, breathless. “Yes, ah--my house. My house is close.”

They rose together, and she took his hand, eagerly leading him along the short, curving path that led up the hill and to her home. She opened the door for him and followed him inside, happily closing out the rest of the world behind them. The room was awash with beautiful moonlight, and she wasted no time in beginning to undress. He did the same, glad for her assistance once she had finished removing her own armor and clothing. As she helped him, she slowly guided him back further into her home and to her awaiting bed.


	10. A Place for Us All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the face of impending battle, Saskia throws a city-wide party to bolster morale and to celebrate the people of Vergen.

Iorveth awoke with a start, nerves tingling with the unpleasant itch of one waking up in an unexpected and unfamiliar place. He reflexively reached for a weapon and found none, noting instead that he was completely naked, bandana included, and none of his clothes were in sight. His long hair, usually tied back and hidden away, was loose and had fallen across his face. He pushed it back impatiently. A soft rustle beside him drew his attention, and his uneasiness melted away. Saskia was still asleep. Her back was turned to him, the thick woven blankets pushed down and away from her inhumanly warm body which was curled in a pose strangely reminiscent of her natural form. He sat up slowly so as not to disturb her, his recollection of the previous night returning in a pleasant series of memories. 

Her ringing laughter, sweet and pure, the touch of her fingers as she helped him undress. Her lips, the taste of her mouth. The moonlight shining in her hair, lighting up her eyes as she led him through her home. 

When they were both exhausted and content, she had rested her head against his chest, eyes closed as she battled sleep just long enough to speak. “Iorveth, stay with me. Will you stay?” 

He watched her now, the slow rise and fall of her body as she slept, and felt a wave of renewed admiration and gratitude for her and for all she had done. In her human form, Saskia could easily have chosen a life of nobility and luxury. In her natural form, she could have lived contentedly in independence, isolated from the troubles of their world. Yet, she had done neither. Instead, she had chosen the most difficult and dangerous path, and she had sacrificed all other possibilities to make that choice. Saskia had taken up the fight against oppression and injustice, the fight against evils that may never have touched her life if she merely chose to avoid them, and she did it for those other than herself. She did it because it was right. 

Iorveth lay beside her, resting his face near her neck and tracing soft lines of her back, his fingers following the curve of her spine, the ridges of her muscles. “Me minne…,” he murmured.

She stirred gently at the sound of his voice, muscles first contracting and pulling her limbs inward before extending out, her limbs quivering slightly as she stretched them to their fullest. Her eyes opened, and for a moment they were filled with a faint, golden glow before they cleared and revealed deep blue irises, still murky with sleep. 

“Iorveth,” upon feeling him beside her, she smiled and turned towards him, contentedly pressing her face into his chest. “It’s later than it should be, isn’t it?” She asked blearily, to which he chuckled. 

“It is.” He gently ran his fingers through her tousled hair.

She groaned softly at his response and pressed herself closer, “What if I ordered you to stay in bed with me for a few more hours, maybe for the rest of the day?”

“I would, and gladly. Is that an invitation?”

Saskia laughed softly, “Perhaps, someday soon. When this is all over.”

She fell silent, as did he, the two of them struck by the finality of her words and of the truth that lingered like a heavy cloud all around them and throughout Vergen: for better or for worse, an end was coming. Iorveth pulled her a little tighter to his chest, his eye closing as he struggled to push away the questions and the worries that their near future raised.

“Iorveth,” her soft voice was a pleasant distraction from his thoughts, “I’ve been thinking...Vergen, the people need a way to forget what’s outside of our walls, if just for awhile. We’ve accomplished a great deal here, made neighbors of strangers, friends of enemies. But there’ve been fights in the streets these past few days, scuffles between those who should be getting along. The whole city is on edge, nervous. They need a way to blow off steam.” She traced a pattern thoughtfully across his chest. “What if we were to throw a party, city-wide, for everyone? The people could use a laugh, something fun to distract them.”

He mused over the idea, puzzled at the concept. Before a battle, he and his Scoia’tael never had the time or the luxury to relax in such a way, but he could see how a distraction might help, if just to encourage a full night’s deep sleep. “A party...it could work.”

She smiled and began to sit up, “I’ll talk to Cecil.”

Already missing the warmth of her body against his, Iorveth encircled her waist in his arm and gently brushed her hair forward over her shoulder so that he could press his lips to the back of her neck and shoulder. “Do you have to go now? Couldn’t you wait...just a bit longer?”

The resolve that had been driving her to leave the bed ebbed, and she relaxed into his arms. Saskia tilted her head to the side and exposed her neck to his attentions with a soft sigh. Turning them both, Iorveth gently urged her to lay back, his lips moving to the front of her neck and down over her breasts. Her body tensed sweetly as he moved further down, tracing a slow path across her skin over the hard muscles of her stomach, the curve of her hips, and downward to the warmth between her legs. He pressed his tongue to her, pulling gently at her soft skin, which immediately drew a most pleasant cry from her lips. The sheets of the bed rustled as she shifted her legs about him, locking him in place. He loved the feeling, though he had no intention of stopping. He kissed her again, pressing deeper this time, and her thighs tensed around him, warm and powerful. 

“Iorveth…,” she breathed his name, her fingers digging into the muscles of his uninjured shoulder. 

He growled softly against her in response and kissed her again, increasing the pace of his attentions. She cried out hoarsely and flexed her hips, pushing herself against him in complete surrender. He could feel her body twisting, her back arching, her hand sliding across the sheets as she sank deeper into the ecstasy they shared together. He opened his eye and watched her as best as he was able without breaking his rhythm, for there was no better sight than watching Saskia in the throes of pleasure. 

She was savagely beautiful. Her golden hair twisted about her face and shoulders. Her lips were full and filled with color, accentuating each sweet cry beautifully - he wished to kiss them but dared not move from between her legs. A soft blush warmed her face and neck, creeping down across her beautiful breasts, which rose and fell entrancingly with each breath. He slid a hand up along her torso to caress one. The sight of her consumed him, and he groaned against her, doing his best to ignore the rapidly-growing tension between his own legs. 

Her body was growing rigid, and he could feel her out for release. Her legs tightened about him even more, surrounding him in the heat of her body, in which he was happily lost. Her breathing was becoming erratic, her fingers curling into the sheets with no small amount of force. 

“Iorveth,” she moaned his name again, her voice urgent and shuddering. He groaned softly in answer, his hands returning to her hips to hold her in place as he felt her body poised to surrender. Her back arched sharply and held there. “Ior--ah!”

She cried out once more and shuddered, her whole body convulsing with pleasure. He continued, though more slowly, mimicking the waves that swept through her with gentle strokes of his tongue. He followed her down from her the pinnacle she had reached until at last she fell still. He released her with one last kiss, for which he was awarded a gentle, satisfied moan. Her fingers curled around his arms, urging him upwards to her chest. Iorveth gladly lay with her, his face pressed to her warm skin. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he closed his, at peace, though the moment was shorter than he wished it to be. 

“I really should go,” she murmured apologetically, her soft voice intoning how much she wished that were not true. “But I fully intend to repay you for your...thoughtfulness,” she grinned, and her eyes gleamed with thoughts she chose to keep to herself for the moment, “and soon.”

They dressed together, perhaps a little slower than was necessary, unwilling to part. At last, they went their separate ways for the day, Saskia to share her ideas and to review outstanding matters with Cecil, and Iorveth to see if he could catch the witcher before he left Vergen. He intended to thank the vatt’ghern once more and wish him well in his travels.

\---

Saskia’s idea for a party had taken a surprisingly strong hold over the citizens of Vergen. Within just a couple of days of announcing the event, the city had changed dramatically. Someone had illustrated a handful of brightly-colored flyers detailing the event and had posted them throughout everywhere they were able to. The chattering bard, Dandelion, talked up the event wherever he went, his unmistakable timbre loud and chirruping, even by his standards. There were rumors that the usually drab and underlit inn was being transformed into a suitable venue by the hands of numerous volunteers. Throughout the streets, streamers were being hung, windows were being decorated, and the sharp, raised voices of bickering neighbors had mostly been transformed into laughter and excited whispering as people discussed dishes they were cooking to share, the outfits they were planning to wear, and the dances they had been practising. As always, Saskia’s word had proved good - with a single idea, she had changed the entire atmosphere of the city for the better. 

Even the Scoia’tael seemed unusually smitten with the idea. As he walked through the familiar streets where most of the Aen Seidhe resided, Iorveth noted a dh’oine woman chatting with a small group of elves, her eyes growing wider with excitement as the elves showed her their collection of cosmetics and demonstrated how best to use them. She sat very still, only her hands trembling with anticipation, as one she-elf carefully traced the upper lids of her eyes with dark kohl. A couple of dwarves were already making bets and fiercely arguing with some of the Scoia’tael on the outcome of the arm wrestling contest that was to be held the night of the party. In the shade of one of the tall, stone buildings carved into the side of the hill, Eislenir sat with Brenswyck, shaking her head as he presented a series of doublets he had scrounged from about the city. 

“How about this one?”

“Too wide about the chest. You’d look foolish. Rather, more foolish.”

“And this one?”

“Ugh, no. The color clashes with your complexion.”

Brenswyck gave a small cry of distress. Eislenir scowled and rummaged through the pile he had brought her, finally pulling out a patterned black doublet trimmed in a subtle shade of gold and studying it intensely for a moment. She shoved the garment into the young elf’s hands. 

“Really?” He looked the doublet over doubtfully. “This one?”

“Go try it on, you’ll see.”

Brenswyck turned towards the door of the building they sat beside to seek a more modest place to change. Eislenir raised her eyes as Iorveth approached and nodded in greetings. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to make me help you choose what to wear as well,” she grinned. “You are going to the party, aren’t you?”

Iorveth crossed his arms over his chest and hummed in doubt. Eislenir raised her brow in genuine surprise. 

“I didn’t think you’d have a choice, being one of the Council. You really ought to go. To relax, certainly, but to represent the Aen Seidhe. Besides,” the she-elf studied her fingernails coyly, “I’m certain Saskia would want you there.”

Iorveth returned her goading with a chilling glare, but Eislenir had grown unnervingly immune to his wordless threats. “Very well, your words have moved me - I’ll go.”

“Good. On that note, what are you going to wear?”

Iorveth spread his arms, gesturing at his current attire. 

“Really? Interesting.” she returned to nonchalantly studying her nails, and Iorveth bristled in irritation. 

“Do you have another suggestion?”

“Yes. Anything else. You’re not going to need chainmail at the party, Iorveth,” she turned back to Brenswyck’s pile of pilfered clothing and rummaged through it once more, pausing as she held up two doublets, one that was a simple brown and another that was a steely blue-grey, a shade that seemed pleasantly familiar. She held the two up against his outline, one at a time, then held the blue doublet up confidently, tossing the rejected doublet aside with a flick of her wrist. “Here. Obviously you’ll need more than just the doublet, but it’s a start.”

Iorveth took the garment gingerly, “Are you certain there’s nothing wrong with it? It looks ridiculous. The shape of it--”

“Is eye-catching, as it’s meant to be. And I’m certain you’re intending to catch at least one pair of eyes at the party, am I correct? Take it or don’t, it matters little to me,” she shrugged. 

Iorveth frowned. “And you? Will you also be dressed up in this idiotic attire?”

The she-elf gave a terse, barking laugh at the jest. When Iorveth did not join in her amusement, she scowled, irritated that he would even make such a suggestion. 

At that moment, Brenswyck burst from the house, arms outstretched in triumph as he stepped forward, chest puffed out and beaming widely in his new doublet. “How do I look?”

Eislenir grinned and gave a delicate clap of her hands, “Ensh’eass, brother. See, Iorveth?”

Iorveth thought the young elf looked more foolish than anything, not unlike most of the puffed-up dh’oine noblemen he had seen wearing similar garments. Even so, there was something alluring about how vastly different it was from the clothing they wore day in and day out. Exhaling in defeat, Iorveth crumpled the doublet up to stuff into the crook of his arm.

“You’ll wrinkle it!” Brenswyck cried, suddenly indignant. Eislenir burst out in laughter, and Iorveth cursed them both, all too happy to depart their company and dreading the challenge he now faced: putting together the rest of this ridiculous ensemble. 

\----

The day of the party dragged on, the anticipation of the evening weighing on every last dwarf, elf, and human with the city walls. The air was thick with the scent of food, the streets crowded with people wandering restlessly, frittering away the remaining hours until evening. Iorveth had remained largely confined to his house, content to sit in peace away from the prying questions and awkward, idle chatter he would undoubtedly be forced to face out in the streets and all throughout the evening. He sat, half-dressed, staring pensively at the pile of clothing that would make up his outfit for the night. In truth, he had no idea if the clothes were appropriate for such an event, but after spending what felt to be a shameful amount of time searching for the right items, Iorveth had decided to settle for what he had found, for better or for worse.

It was getting late. A swell of noise outside signaled the start of the activities, which Iorveth could only imagine meant some sort of dramatic poem or reenactment or a hideous combination of the two led by Dandelion. A piercing collection of exhilarated female voices, shortly followed by the bard’s recognizable tone, confirmed his theory. Massaging the thick scar at his shoulder, Iorveth exhaled through his teeth and stood, reluctantly beginning to dress. He began with the doublet, an odd garment made with a strangely-shiny cloth, steely-blue in color and fitted. Despite searching, Iorveth had found no suitable trousers to match, so he kept on his usual forest green leggings. After some deliberation, he pulled a fitted shirt of chainmail over the doublet, unable to leave his home without it. To this he added a simple, stitched, armless brown vest with a dark green collar. The final touches were a pair of short, leather gloves and his own boots. Fully dressed, Iorveth shifted uncomfortably, the layers of unfamiliar clothing feeling strange against his skin. He had no idea if his outfit was sufficient, no reference of what colors were meant to go with what. It had been many decades since trivial thoughts of fashion had crossed his mind, and even in his youth, he had cared little for such things. Regardless, the festivities outside were already well underway judging by the noise - it was time to join in the celebrations. 

Iorveth stepped outside and was instantly greeted by the raucous din of a town most ready for relaxation and celebration. People were milling about the streets, chattering excitedly and laughing, many already holding drinks in their hands. A small stage had been constructed upon which the colorful bard was now reciting bawdy poetry to a sizable crowd. This seemed to be drawing the most attention, so Iorveth gladly walked in the opposite direction, instead making his way towards the inn. As with the streets, the inn was busier than he had ever seen, and the doorway was crowded with people moving in and out. Distracted by their own excitement, his fellow Vergeni had seemed to have forgotten who he was, and the crowds jostled against him as they jostled against anyone else. He finally made his way into the inn and blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The place was filled with people, most crowded at tables and many moving about in search of familiar faces or worthy entertainment. Towards the edge of the room, he spotted a table of Aen Seidhe and made his way towards it. Most lifted their heads in greetings before immediately resuming their chatter amongst themselves. 

Eislenir looked him over, her face stern, her brow raised skeptically. After a moment, she dropped her gaze back to the mug on the table in front of her and took a long drink. “Oh, wonderful. More chainmail.”

“Thaesse!” He hissed in warning as he slipped into a seat at the table, which earned him a grin. Iorveth wrinkled his nose as he caught the scent wafting from her mug. “What on earth are you drinking?”

“It’s some dwarven beer,” Eislenir replied, lifting her mug and eyeing the contents mournfully. “It’s bloede terrible. Here,” she slid the mug across the table. 

Generally unfond of alcoholic drinks, Iorveth studied the mug warily. “Why is it so frothy?” He took a cautious drink and frowned, his confusion as to why anyone would drink such swill deepening. 

He sat for a moment in silence, content to listen to the idle chatter of his companions and to observe the activities of the already-drunk patrons of the inn. It seemed that the arm wrestling contest was already well-underway, though judging by how many dwarves were currently facing off, it was difficult to tell which contest was authentic. In the far corner, a fistfight was taking place between a human and an elf, but judging from the cries of the onlookers, the fight was purely for sport. Somewhere near the middle of the room, a group broke out in bawdy song, and a dwarf clambered up on the table, staggering from his intoxication and spilling beer on those seated below. 

“Let’s play dice,” Eislenir demanded, slamming her fist against the table. 

“I’ll play!” Brenswyck perked up at mention of the game, ever eager to win a little coin. 

“Don’t play with her,” Cyprius warned, leaning forward, “she cheats. Play with me.”

The two retrieved a game board from another table and began to play while Eislenir looked on forlornly. Feeling a stab of reckless pity, Iorveth found another board and engaged her in a game. Several rounds later, he learned that his pity was sorely misplaced, as he found himself out no small amount of coin. Cursing avidly, he shoved the board away while Eislenir grinned, took a smug drink, and pocketed her winnings. A young dh’oine woman approached their table, smiling and singing a warm tune, a woven basket of flower necklaces tucked in one arm. Ever smiling, she began placing necklaces over the heads of everyone at the table. When she reached Iorveth, the icy look of warning he gave her chased the grin from her face and the song from her lips. She paused, arm extended, a floral loop hanging delicately from her fingers. 

“No.”

She retracted her arm slowly. 

“Don’t mind him, he’s just bitter that he’s lost his life’s savings to me in less than an hour,” Eislenir crowed, admiring her necklace. 

Iorveth turned to her sharply, “Thae--”

The woman slipped the necklace over him before he could stop her and vanished into the crowd more quickly than he had ever seen a dh’oine move. Thoroughly delighted, the others laughed and hooted shamelessly. Iorveth snatched another drink from the tray of a passing server and glowered into it. The dicing continued and was beginning to draw quite a crowd. Eislenir and Cyprius methodically beat challenger after challenger, fending off dwarves, humans, and other elves alike. At last, Eislenir lost to Cecil Burdon who, though grim as ever, seemed to be enjoying himself more than Iorveth had ever seen. Frowning deeply, Eislenir snatched two more drinks, keeping one for herself and sliding one to Iorveth, an unspoken apology for losing all of the money she had taken from him to Cecil. 

Unaccustomed to drinking, Iorveth was beginning to feel a bit light-headed. He looked about the room, the loud laughter and conversations all blurring together as his thoughts wandered. There was but one reason he truly had decided to attend Vergen’s celebrations, and he had yet to see her. A hard thump across his back snapped him back to the present, and he turned his head to find the distinctly dwarven face of Yarpen Zigrin beaming at him. 

“Iorveth! I was certain you wouldn’t show!” The dwarf looked pointedly from Iorveth’s mug to his floral jewelry. “I see you’re enjoying the festivities so far.”

Iorveth intended to remark on how they were not on such friendly terms as to greet each other with any sort of touching, but he was finding it difficult to string together enough words to form such a sentence. Instead, he chose to offer a rude gesture, which to his great annoyance only made the dwarf grin broadly before wandering off to greet the rest of the table. Iorveth shut his eye and tried to focus, the commotion and the alcohol making his head ache. As if in response, the door of the inn swung open, and a great cheer filled the room with noise. However, the cause of the noise made him sit up straight.

“Saskia!”

Throughout the inn, mugs were raised in the air and people rose to their feet to greet their Queen. She entered the room like a shining beacon, her warm smile favoring all, her hand raised in humble greetings. She looked stunning. She had traded her armor for a long, deep-red skirt that just reached the ground. At her waist, she wore a brown corset, laced firmly up to just beneath her breasts and accented with slashes of red. Her top was the thick, long-sleeved blouse she often wore beneath her armor, but fully-visible one could see the intricate detail of it. The high collar encircled her bare neck, as her golden locks were tied up in an elegant style. Atop her head sat a crown, Stennis’ crown, a gleaming souvenir and a proud reminder to all of Vergen that she reigned, not because of her lineage or her name or her royal blood, but because her people had made a choice and placed the crown upon her. The sight of the crown drove those in the room to new levels of wild, and a swarm of people pressed forward, all urging her to accept food, drinks, fervent shakes of the hand, anything to be close to her. He could not resist. Seeing her, surrounded by the respect and affection of those whose lives she had changed for the better, Iorveth grinned, his heart filling with an unusual sense of peace in knowing that he was in the right place, that he had made the right choices, and that he would continue to defend her until the end, whatever it may be.

The crowd around her finally began to let up, and she made her way throughout the inn, drifting from table to table to greet and speak with everyone she was able. Iorveth watched her path intently, eager to catch her eye. However, Saskia saved their table for last and for good reason. She smiled and greeted them all as she approached, but her gaze fell to Iorveth as she lingered at the edge of the table, her hand delicately holding the edge of her skirt from sweeping along the dirty floor. 

“May I join you?”

“Of course!” 

He responded perhaps a bit too eagerly, nearly knocking over his mug as he gestured towards the seat next to him, which was currently occupied by Brenswyck. The young elf looked pleasantly from Iorveth to Saskia, oblivious until a hard stare from Iorveth seemed to jolt him into understanding. He scrambled out of the way and found another seat further down the table. Saskia laughed softly and settled into the seat, her left hand gently holding his shoulder for balance as she moved into place. Eislenir did not miss this detail. Seated across from them, the she-elf sat back in her chair slowly and flashed Iorveth a smug smile. He returned it with a hard glare and parted his lips to speak.

“Thaesse, I know, I know,” she finished for him at low volume. Clearing her throat delicately, she turned her gaze on Saskia. “Saskia, you look beautiful. She does, doesn’t she, Iorveth?”

He shot her a look that would petrify most, but the she-elf bore it with a brave smile and was rewarded with a sharp kick under the table. Retaining an arrogant grin, Eislenir relented and turned her attention back to Cyprius, who was offering archery tips to a young human male. Iorveth turned to Saskia, who seemed to be waiting for an answer to Eislenir’s question. She was smiling softly, but her eyes were warm and happy and bright. 

“You do,” he murmured, his voice slurring slightly, “you look beautiful, Saskia.”

She laughed and leaned in very close to him to steal his drink. He felt the warmth of her through his clothes, could smell the sweetness of her hair. He shifted slightly, his pulse quickening as he found his thoughts wandering. When she straightened in her own seat, she was still smiling, but he was certain the look in her eyes had changed to one of mischievous cunning.

“Thank you,” she replied. She took a long drink from his stolen mug, draining its contents. She slammed the empty glass down and signaled for the nearest server. “Another round for the whole table, if you’d be so kind!”

Those seated around her cheered her announcement with no small amount of fervor, and she smiled widely. Beneath the table, Iorveth nearly jumped as he felt her hand settle softly on his leg. He looked to her in surprise, but she only returned his gaze with an unwavering stare and a grin. He felt very aware of just how many people sat around them and in such close proximity.

“Are you enjoying the party so far?” Her hand slid further up his leg, moving along the inside of his thigh. 

“Ah, y-yes,” her fingers pressed into his leg, then continued upwards and brushed across his groin. He clenched his jaw, rapidly losing awareness of everyone else in the room but her. But the server was drawing near, and she withdrew her hand slowly, returning it to her own lap.

“Good,” she replied simply, her voice hushed. “Perhaps we’ll have a chance to enjoy it a bit more later.”

The server deposited a large tray of drinks to the middle of the table amidst cheers, and the celebrations continued. Dandelion and a small group of musicians had set up towards the center of the room and began to play some jovial music, likely intended to spark the urge to dance. His plans were successful - before long, eager hands had cleared a portion of the inn of tables and turned it into a dancefloor. People were flocking to it eagerly, abandoning their tables to seek out dance partners of their choice. It was a matter of moments before a young human approached and asked Saskia to dance, and she laughingly agreed, allowing herself to be led out into the thickening crowd. Iorveth was content to slowly nurse another drink and watch as she danced and laughed, switching from partner to partner as the songs carried on. Even Brenswyck gathered the courage to ask her for a turn, though he spent the entirety of the dance trying and failing to not stare helplessly at her chest. At last she returned to the table, breathless and smiling, and sank into the seat next to him. 

“Dancing is thirsty work,” she laughed dizzily and teetered in her chair, the alcohol seemingly having a similar effect on her as it had on him, “though it seems we’ve run out of drinks!”

Zoltan Chivay, who had seated himself nearby to try his hand at beating Cyprius at dice, lifted his head at her words. “Well, that won’t do! Hey! Server! Bugger, he hasn’t heard me. There’s a fine Mahakaman ale the innkeep hides away in a room upstairs. We ought to bring a keg down. I’ll find it and--”

Saskia stood up sharply, “Nonsense! And interrupt your game? I’ll fetch the keg. Iorveth, would you help me?”

Iorveth looked to her in surprise and found her grinning, the same gleam in her eye that had been hinting all evening returning once more. He stood up far too quickly, his movements made clumsy by the drinking he had been doing, and nearly knocked over his chair. Zoltan squinted at him suspiciously, and a few others glanced his way in surprise. For a moment, he considered making some excuse, but Saskia was giggling and pulling gently at his arm, and he was glad to follow her across the room towards the stairs. She ascended first, casting the occasional, smiling glance back at him as she led the way. 

“I think I know the room of which Zoltan spoke...yes, here!” 

She singled out a door and made for it quickly, taking care not to trip on the hem of her skirt. It was a small room, and cramped. Its walls were stone, its floors a rough wood. Most of the floor was taken up by stacks of various kegs of liquor and pickled foods. Saskia shoved the door closed behind them and led him towards the back with certainty, not bothering to check the labels of the various barrels they passed. 

Iorveth looked about as they neared the end of the room, “How do you know which--?”

Saskia turned and faced him suddenly, pressing her lips to his in a deep and unexpected kiss. She pressed her palms to his chest, urging him to step back, slowly, until his shoulder blades thudded lightly against the wall. He grunted softly in surprise, his heart beating a little faster with excitement. Iorveth was unaccustomed to having his actions dictated in any way. Many had tried, and many had paid for it with their lives. But submitting to Saskia was entirely different. Giving in to her thrilled him endlessly. He gripped her waist and pulled her closer, leaving her lips so he could taste her neck, the sharp curve of her shoulder, the top of her breasts…

A sudden, heavy knock made them both jump in alarm. They froze reflexively, her fingers hovering just above the front of his leggings, his lips against her skin. 

“What’s taking ye so bloody long? Didye get lost?” Zoltan’s raised voice was clear enough, even through the closed door. 

Iorveth disentangled himself from her arms with a soft growl of displeasure and crossed the room. He pulled open the door perhaps a bit too avidly, taking care to open it just enough to keep only himself visible. Zoltan took a step back in surprise, his brow raised. 

“Iorveth! Didye find the keg of Ma-- where’s Saskia?”

Iorveth’s eye roved the hallway behind the dwarf cautiously, “Searching another room.”

“Oh aye?” The dwarf craned his neck curiously, attempting to look further into the room. Iorveth squared his shoulders to better block the way. He was certain he heard poorly-stifled giggling from somewhere behind him. A slow, irritating grin spread across Zoltan’s face. “Say, Iorveth, are you feelin’ alright? You’re looking a bit pokey.”

“What?” He snapped, emerald eye glinting with growing annoyance. “We--I’m trying to find your bloede ale, like you asked. As is Saskia. Somewhere else.”

Zoltan chuckled and shook his head, crossing his thick arms across his chest, “Okay, sure thing, I’ll let you get back to it. Won’t bother you again.” Iorveth began to close the door, but Zoltan continued. “Oh, and when you do see Saskia, tell her thank you for finding that keg for us.”

Iorveth slammed the door. When he returned, she was waiting for him. Her skirt remained, but she had removed the corset about her waist along with her blouse, leaving her entire upper body bare. Somehow, she had managed to remove all of these while retaining her crown and her perfectly-styled hair. He could not help but stare, much to her delight. Blinking, he tried to focus on what had just happened.

“I’m fairly certain the dwarf knows.”

“I’m certain he does. It doesn’t matter,” she laughed and extended her hand. “Come.”

He happily obeyed and stepped forward to join her. She guided him back to his place against the wall, her fingers sliding down the front of his vest. Her fingers closed around the floral necklace he had forgotten he was wearing, and she chuckled, her eyes alight with joy. Saskia paused thoughtfully for a moment and met his gaze.

“You look very handsome, you know,” she confessed softly.

Surprised at her words and the sudden gentleness of her voice, Iorveth drew her slowly into another kiss, caressing the side of her face carefully with a gloved hand. She returned the kiss more fiercely and pressed her bare chest against him, her fingers slipping down to the front of his leggings once more, as they had been before the untimely interruption. She gripped him firmly, smiling against his lips as she felt him pulse eagerly in response. Gathering her skirt to the side with one hand, she lowered herself to her knees, taking care to wrinkle and dirty her clothing as little as possible. His eye widened as he realized her intentions.

“Saskia, y-you don’t have t--”

She had tugged down his leggings adamantly, her eyes glinting wickedly up at him as she took him in her hand and ran her fingers firmly over him. Iorveth shuddered in response, and any retaliation he had planned died on his lips, replaced with a wavering gasp as she brought him slowly to her mouth. He pressed his shoulders back against the wall and closed his eye as she closed her lips about him and took him in, the warm press of her tongue running firmly along the underside of his elfhood. He groaned as she repeated the motion, a little faster, a little deeper. His time she brought him, each flick of her tongue sent waves of aching pleasure through him, coaxing at a familiar and steadily-mounting pressure at the base of his spine. As she continued more quickly still, she moaned softly against him, and the sound of her voice combined with the sensation it brought was dizzying. 

He would have gladly surrendered to her there, if not for a growing desire to return some of the pleasure she had shared with him. Feeling himself already growing dangerously close, he gently gripped her arm and urged her upwards. She rose to her feet, laughing softly, but the sound turned to a muffled gasp as he pulled her to him and kissed her hard. Iorveth lifted her long skirts enough to grip the back of her thighs and lifted her to his waist. Sensing his desire, she happily locked her legs around him and lowered her lips to his neck as he carried her forward to the nearest barrel of a suitable height. Saskia shivered with delight as he placed her upon it, one hand tracing a path along her stomach to her breast, the other slipping upward beneath her skirts to the warmth between her legs. She arched against his touch, revealing her readiness, and gazed at him intently through heavily-lidded eyes. Her fingers gripped the edge of the barrel as he stepped between her legs and guided himself into place. 

There was a swell of voices below, a reaction to some feat pulled off by Dandelion or the shocking result of another arm-wrestling contest, perhaps. Neither of them paid it any mind. Iorveth heard only their mutual gasp of pleasure as they joined at last. He thrust into her eagerly, and she angled her hips upward to better take him in, her legs locking about him to help her maintain her precarious balance atop the keg. Saskia wrapped her arms about his shoulders and moaned sweetly into the crook of his neck as he thrust into her again, harder. She moved with him as they continued together, her fingernails digging pleasurably into his skin. Holding her hips, he pulled her closer to him, as close as their limited space would allow, and she lay back as he thrust faster and more urgently. 

“Yes, Iorveth - ah!”

She cried out, doing her best to keep her voice hushed, as he guided her legs upward and leaned over her. Iorveth kept his gloved hands between her legs and his chainmail shirt to be certain not to cause her discomfort or potentially snag her skirt. He continued his relentless pace, his own pleasure quickly reaching dizzying heights as he drank in her rising moans, the growing blush in her skin, the beautiful bouncing of her breasts. She squeezed him suddenly, bringing them a heightened wave of pleasure that sent them both over the edge. Drawing in a sharp, shuddering breath, Saskia cried out once more, hoarsely, release trembling through her core. Her contracting body embraced him, and Iorveth groaned as he joined her, thrusting into her a final time, deeply, as he filled her. 

They remained joined for several minutes as their rush subsided, dizzy and content to be together, alone and apart from the commotion below. Their breaths ragged, Saskia sought his lips with her own and drew him into a slow and gentle kiss. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, and he held her to his chest, savoring what warmth of her skin he could glean through his clothes. When at last Saskia began to sit up, Iorveth withdrew from her slowly and helped her off of the keg, which had dutifully withstood their vigorous efforts. 

“A durable barrel,” Iorveth commented dryly, pulling his leggings back into place. “What vintage?”

Saskia smoothed her blouse over her torso and retrieved her corset, bending to study the side of the barrel. She tossed her head back and laughed suddenly, stepping aside to reveal the nameplate fastened to the side. 

“Mahakaman Ale - 1232.”

They finished dressing and departed the room quietly, opting to leave the poor barrel behind and alert for any passersby that might be in the area. Fortunately, the crowd below was still thoroughly occupied with Dandelion, and they saw not a soul until they made their way down the stairs to the main level of the inn. 

Zoltan, leaning casually against the wall and chatting with Eislenir, regarded them with interest as they drew near. “Hah! Took the two of ye long enough. Where’s the ale?”

“We didn’t find it,” Iorveth replied with flat finality. 

The dwarf grinned crookedly beneath his beard, “A shame.” But he took their word and pressed no further.

\----

The night would prove memorable to all. As midnight came and passed, the celebrations continued on into the earliest hours of morning. Human, dwarf, and elf shared stories, drinks, and laughter. Dandelion had abandoned the stage, leaving it open for various drunken revelers to walk upon it and regale the inn with song, which many did. Those who were far less inebriated were drawn outside to an archery contest that the Scoia’tael had started, and the traffic within the inn began to thin out. Many stayed to speak with Saskia, stopping by to praise her, ask her questions, or simply to chat with her. The noble-blooded dh’oine, Niles, stopped by to present Saskia with a delicate corsage, which he ceremoniously placed about her wrist. She thanked him graciously, a response that seemed to please the man greatly, and he departed in uncharacteristically high spirits, even offering Iorveth a quick nod of greetings before he left. 

When at last the revelry began to lessen, the many citizens of Vergen began to return to their familiar homes, tired and content. Saskia kept herself awake until the very end, her eyelids growing heavy but never closing, a smile on her face as she shared the evening with all. Iorveth sat beside her, vigilant but oddly calm. The sense of peace he had experienced numerous times throughout the day had returned, and he was grateful to enjoy it with Saskia near. Finally, the last of the partygoers retreated to their beds, and they parted ways. Iorveth walked home slowly, stepping carefully through the fallen banners, discarded dishware, and the occasional reveler who had not quite made it to where they were going before passing out. He committed as much of what he saw as he could to memory, knowing that he would not be alone in remembering this night, their city, or the woman who brought them together.


	11. Valley of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight to preserve Vergen against an assault by Redanian forces begins. In the face of overwhelming odds, Saskia is forced to make a series of difficult decisions.

Saskia stood atop the wall, her still outline just visible in the murky glow of predawn. She stood where he had watched her stand for the past several sunrises and wondered, not for the first time, when last she had slept. Although she had spent most of the recent nights in his bed, or he in hers, Iorveth had fallen asleep by her side and awoken each time alone, with her already gone, and found her here atop the wall, her eyes trained unblinkingly on the skyline just above the treetops. Her face was grim and taut, her hair rustling softly in the faint breeze. Her fingers were poised at her waist, hovering near the hilt of her sword. Alone atop the walls, standing watch long before the city began to stir with life, she waited, her gaze clouded and heavy under the weight of the thoughts and worries she chose to carry alone, for she told no one of her fears, no one but him. Iorveth watched her watching over her city, their city, and he sent out not the first silent prayer, an open plea to the gods, to the wind, to whomever. Please, let us be victorious. Protect her. Let me be strong enough to finish this fight. Grant me this one wish. 

Before, he had chosen to leave her in peace, and she had remained atop the wall until well into the morning. But today, he climbed the stony steps and joined her, and today, the sound of his approach broke her unwavering focus. In recent times, Saskia had become adept at hiding her uncertainty, but this morning she lacked the energy. She turned to him, and the grimness in her face remained, the worry deepened. 

“Iorveth,” she whispered his name, and her voice was coarse with weariness. “It’s nearly time.”

He said nothing, though his stomach sank under the weight of her words. Iorveth drew up his shoulders, crossed his arms, and waited for her command. She turned back towards the view beyond the gate and pointed to a thin line of smoke just visible over the trees. 

“I can smell them, their fire. Just one. Why just one fire, if they were unconcerned with being spotted?” She shook her head, trying to disperse her uneasiness. “Something’s wrong.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it. We’re ready.”

“Get Zoltan, tell him to prepare.” 

Iorveth turned to do as she willed but was arrested by the firm press of her fingers at his arm. When he faced her again, she was close, her weary eyes bright with things she wished to say, but they had already said all they needed to, and instead she kissed him softly on the lips. It was brief, fleeting, but it was enough. He bowed his head and left her to continue her watch, moving quickly to carry out her orders. Dawn would be upon them soon, and there was much to be done before then.

\---

Vergen’s army assembled quickly, though ‘army’ was a strong term for the collection of humans, elves, and dwarves that filled the streets, their makeshift weapons and hurriedly-assembled armor revealing them for what they truly were: common people, banding together to protect the place that had become their home, filled with equal parts fear and hope. What they lacked in experience, they made up for in bravery, for men and women alike stood in the streets, young and old, peasants and nobles. In the shared words of encouragement, in the hands helping one another don their blades and armor, in the anxious pacing, the sweating in the rising sun, the cursing and the laughing, Iorveth saw Saskia’s dream fully alive, for they were all together. 

He stalked along the edges of the streets, silently assessing their numbers, their readiness, the morale. Not a soul within the city wished to be going to battle again so soon, yet every single one stood ready to fight. Iorveth felt a spark of hope rising somewhere deep within his chest and checked it. Hope was pointless, a reckless emotion that would only serve to blur his focus. Only time would tell if they would be victorious, and the time was nearly at hand. He reached the stretch of road where his Scoia’tael stood waiting, and the change in mood was immediately apparent. Here, there was no nervous pacing, no anxious laughter or bickering. The Aen Seidhe stood tall, their weapons ready and sheathed, their armor in place. They watched him in silence, nodding in greetings as he walked among them, awaiting his command. To the Scoia’tael, battle was more familiar than peace - they were ready. 

On his signal, they fell in line behind him, following him through the streets and towards the high walls lining the long corridor just beyond the city’s greatest defense, the heavily-reinforced Mahakam gate. The stony stretch below had been meticulously filled with lines of sharpened stakes, jagged shards of metal, cords and chains meant to snag and snare, and debris to fill any remaining space. Moving through it would prove no small challenge for anyone, let alone lines of armored soldiers. Behind the high walls waited an impressive supply of hot oil, ready to be poured into the area below. The tactic had served them well in their fight against the Kaedweni, and Iorveth hoped it would prove to be equally effective today. He signaled his archers forward and mounted the wall, his eye narrowing at the sight that awaited below. 

At the far end of the entry-turned-battleground, sat a sizable barricade. Beyond that stood an already daunting number of dh’oine soldiers, lined in the perfect rows that the human military seemed to require, and more were filing in behind them. He heard some murmurs of unease from those around him, but the sight made Iorveth’s fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword and his skin itch with anticipation. After all, his very existence had been branded with such terms as “terrorist” and “murderer.” To serve Saskia and to protect Vergen, he would do what he did best and prove those who had granted him these labels right, and he would do so with a smile on his face. He stepped forward, leaving his archers behind, to stand beside Saskia and Zoltan near the edge of the wall. 

Amidst the gathering lines of soldiers below, one human stood out from the rest, as he alone was mounted on a burly, white horse, both man and steed glittering in heavy armor. He rode fiercely through the lines, barking orders, occasionally turning his sneering gaze towards the walls and towards Saskia. She watched him as well, her face impassive and steady, her shoulders squared and feet planted firmly. At last, as the soldiers fell into place and grew still to await orders, the commander broke away from the lines and rode forward to the barricade that marked the line between Vergen and the enemy. Sat atop his mount, the man removed his helmet to reveal a scarred, square face, clean-shaven and heavy of jaw. His eyes were dark, deeply-set and glittered with open malice as he turned his gaze upwards. For a long moment, neither spoke, both Saskia and the commander appraising one another in mutual distrust. At last the dh’oine spoke, his voice harsh with contempt.

“Saskia the Dragonslayer, false queen of a stolen city, daughter to Aedirn swineherds, descendant of a bloodline of absolutely no import, by order of the one true ruler of the Northern Realms, King Radovid V, open your gates, surrender to me, and your end will be swift, the people of Vergen spared.”

Saskia said nothing, but merely watched the man with cold, emotionless eyes. The commander’s horse stamped nervously, sensitive to the growing ire of its rider. He checked the steed’s reins sharply, his jaw tightening in anger at the silence he was met with. 

“You have but one chance to accept my offer, vile woman, so make your choice quickly, or I will gladly gut you and every man, dwarf, and filthy elf that lurks within your wretched city,” the man’s gaze flicked from Zoltan to Iorveth, then back to Saskia. 

Saskia shifted slightly, her sword clinking at her side, “What is your name, sir?”

The man scowled, clearly taken aback by her question. 

“You do have a name?” Saskia raised her brow. “Or are you a faceless pawn, sent here by better men? Judging by his absence, I can only assume that your fearless King Radovid had better things to do and instead sent you to achieve this petty task, Sir--?”

“Ser Marcus Veyne of Redania,” the man fumed, his visage reddening. “And King Radovid resides not far to the north, tearing down the pathetic remains of Kaedwen and achieving a mighty victory as we speak. Henselt must be a pitiful man, indeed, to be whipped into submission by a common whore dressed up in armor.”

“And yet you are here, Sir, and not with your king and his finest?” 

“I am clearing the way for His Majesty,” the dh’oine replied, his voice thick with poison. “I will gut your city, take the Pontar Valley, and drag you in chains to my King--”

“And he will be grateful,” Saskia smiled coldly, “yes, I see. This plot, to come here to my city shouting threats - it was yours, I presume? You arm yourself with a noble name, fine armor, and an army given to you to satiate your whining demands, but you are no more than a common thug who would happily murder those in your way to achieve some shred of respect in the eyes of your betters. Ser Veyne, I advise you to turn your army around and march back to your king. There is nothing for you here. You will find no glory, no mighty victory to pin to your name. You will find only closed gates, high walls, and an army of true soldiers, not those seeking merit and easy fame. Here, you will find soldiers borne of true bravery, soldiers willing to do whatever it takes to defend their home from small men like you.” 

Saskia turned from the livid commander and strode along the wall towards the city, Iorveth and Zoltan following behind her. Iorveth longed to stay and put an arrow through the man’s throat, but Saskia was giving him a single chance to reconsider, an offer the dh’oine immediately rejected. 

“You’ll regret your foolish decision, foul snake,” the man spat, turning his horse sharply to ride back through his ranks. 

“He’s a maverick?” Zoltan considered the idea, doubtful. “He’s got a lot of boots standing behind him.”

“Infantry, yes, but no heavy weapons or warfare equipment,” Saskia mused. “No siege weapons, no ballistas. There’s no shortage of men willing to pick up a sword now, but those weren’t legitimate Redanian soldiers, not all of them. Most likely, he’s a mercenary who managed to convince Radovid to add some men to his company for a venture into Aedirn. What does Radovid have to lose, employing an eager mercenary? If Veyne fails, what really is lost? And if Veyne succeeds, Radovid gains the Pontar Valley, a piece of land that could give him a valuable foothold against Nilfgaard.” 

Zoltan sagged with visible relief, his arms crossed over his broad chest, “Aye, no siege weapons. That’s a relief.”

“Their best bet is to take down the front barricade and file in towards the Mahakam gate, which we will not make easy for them. We have our traps, hot oil, and Iorveth’s archers to pick them off as they advance.”

Iorveth nodded, “Gladly.”

“Good,” Saskia inclined her head. “We can expect the attack to start at any moment. Zoltan, let’s be sure the Mahakam gate is fully fortified, and check with Yarpen to see that the oil is ready.”

“Right away.”

As Zoltan departed, Saskia turned to Iorveth and allowed herself a small smile of hope, her eyes softening. “Only time will tell, but we’re fortunate, at least for now. We’re prepared for this. It will be a long, painful, and bloody task for Veyne to get into the city, and so long as we can keep Mahakam gate standing, we’re safe. And perhaps if Veyne goes running back to Radovid, defeated...perhaps Radovid will lack the time for another attempt.”

“And what of Nilfgaard?”

Saskia’s jaw clenched with uncertainty, “We can only hope the two armies are content to fight each other. If Nilfgaard crosses the Pontar soon, the Black Ones will meet the Northern army in open battle. Nilfgaard may be content to leave Vergen in peace to instead focus on the North. But if Radovid finishes with Kaedwen before then, he’ll surely turn his eye on Aedirn and the Pontar Valley. For now, we focus on the enemy at hand.”

They had no choice but to push aside their worries of the many battles that yet lay ahead. There were cries of alarm coming from further down the opposite wall. The attack on the outer barricade had begun. Saskia and Iorveth moved along the wall to survey the damage and found that torches had been laid to the defense. The barricade was beginning to smoke, but with time a great deal of the debris that gave it structure would burn away, leaving only a skeleton that could be climbed and crawled through. 

“Iorveth. Be wary of their arbalists.”

He nodded, turning to gather his archers. They moved into position quickly, crouching behind roughly-hewn wooden walls that had been built at intervals along the stony parapet to serve as cover. The Scoia’tael worked with deadly efficiency, picking off the soldiers brave enough to try to speed the destruction of the barricade. But the enemy’s arbalists were also effective, and their counterattacks kept the Scoia’tael behind cover for too long. The barricade was beginning to burn steadily, and it was only a matter of time before its integrity failed. Iorveth remained atop the wall, drawing his own bow beside his Scoia’tael, while Saskia disappeared below to check in with Zoltan and the others. 

The barricade was going up, and more rapidly now. All around the flames and billowing smoke, fallen bodies lay in growing piles, the corpses riddled with arrows. Some amongst the tangle of limbs were still alive- Iorveth could hear their feeble cries as they slowly bled out- but none of their comrades were brave enough to step into firing range to try to drag them away. He watched one in particular writhing on the ground, soon to die and not worth wasting an arrow on to end his suffering. The soldier coughed, shuddered, and moved no more. Iorveth smiled mirthlessly. One dh’oine less.

The barricade crackled sharply and suddenly, and its wooden body fell away in a plume of char and ash, leaving its metallic skeleton and a few burning remnants. There was a hushed and hesitant cheer from the waiting soldiers, but it was enough to summon their commander. He stepped forth, no longer atop his horse, and turned a twisted smile from the fallen barricade to the walls. Saskia was not present to receive his mockery, but the man seemed to take equal pleasure in directing his smugness to Iorveth. Iorveth’s fingers twitched at his bow, but his face remained impassive as he returned the commander’s gaze. Veyne reminded him a great deal of the dh’oine that had taken his eye. Reckless, arrogant, and very soon to be deceased. 

Veyne signaled his men forward with a wordless shout, directing them clumsily forward past the remnants of the barricade and into the long, straight corridor that ended at the Mahakam gate. Iorveth signaled to one of his elves.

“Inform Saskia. Hurry back.”

The Squirrel nodded and departed at a nimble run. Iorveth turned to his awaiting archers and surveyed the grim, stony faces. He met their sullen gazes with a crooked smile. 

“Cheer up, Scoia’tael! Many dh’oine will die today, and they’ll fall to our arrows, our blades. They’ll bleed and die at the gates of our home, and they’ll know exactly who ended their miserable lives, know our faces. No more nameless shadows in the forests. No more slinking through the trees, picking off stragglers, aimlessly struggling to survive. Today, we fight for Vergen. Today, we fight for Saskia. And today, we fight for our freedom!” He raised his hand, and they raised their bows, nimble fingers notching arrows and turning them down on the soldiers below. “Kill them all!”

He lowered his fist, and the arrows rained down, the soft hiss of the bows giving way to ugly, strangled cries of agony. Bodies dropped, adding yet more debris for those behind to climb through. Iorveth hoped with all of his being that the soldiers still standing looked upon their fallen comrades as they climbed over their corpses and felt true fear. 

“Arbalists, forward, cover the swords!” Veyne’s distinct voice bellowed above the din from somewhere still outside the city.

Iorveth cursed under his breath. He had hoped the worm would be reckless enough to lead the charge personally, but the commander remained out of range for now. The arbalists marched forward, seeking what little cover they could in the corridor and kneeling to prepare their crossbows. Iorveth signaled for his elves to take cover, the corner of his mouth twitching once as he called Eislenir to him. She slipped from one shielded area to the next, her green eyes glittering with mounting adrenaline as she joined him.

“Let’s greet their crossbows with hot oil.”

The she-elf smiled wildly, the imagery induced by his words giving her great joy, “Shall I go now?”

“No, wait a bit longer, until the corridor is filled with dh’oine.”

She nodded, “On your signal.”

They waited patiently as the area below filled with soldiers. The arbalists stood at the ready, unwilling to waste bolts on hidden targets, waiting for the Scoia’tael to shoot first. The occasional Squirrel arrow flew and met its target, its owner slipping behind cover before a returning bolt could find them. Just enough to keep the dh’oine confidently marching forward…

Iorveth turned his head to Eislenir, and she met his gaze, ready, “Va, veloë.”

She ran, keeping low behind the parapet, delivering his orders to those beneath the walls. Some of the soldiers had nearly reached the gate, their voices raised in rallying cries as they wove their way through the thicket of obstacles. Their shouts drove those yet behind them forward with vigor, and soon the space below was crawling with dh’oine, eagerly pressing forward. Iorveth felt the stone beneath his feet shudder, and the walls began to click mechanically as valves opened. He turned his gaze towards the far barricade, near which Veyne stood, still urging his soldiers inside. Iorveth heard the first, uncertain cries as the decorative, carved stone heads lining the lower walls revealed their purpose. Their stone maws glowed momentarily, steam rising from between their jagged teeth, followed soon after by continuous spurts of hot oil. The soldiers’ cries were no longer uncertain. Shrieks of terror and agony pierced the air as the oil quickly began to fill the area, raining down on the soldiers’ exposed heads and arms. The Scoia’tael did not cheer, did not cry out with pleasure. But the heaviness in their eyes lifted and their shoulders straightened at the sight of so many fallen enemies. Eislenir returned, surveying the scene below with a devilish grin before retaking her place further down the wall.

Saskia followed close behind, taking a place beside Iorveth. Her gaze swept over the destruction below, and she nodded with approval. “Our plans are holding strong, and we’ve plenty of arrows and oil still waiting. With luck, Veyne will try a few more times, realize the futility of his attack, and leave.” She crossed her arms behind her back and paced further down the wall. “Where is he?”

Iorveth joined her side. The commander had vanished, retreating back into the forest and out of sight. Iorveth crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Perhaps he’s already having second thoughts?”

Saskia shook her head, her eyes trained on the treeline. The look of unease that had darkened her face earlier in the morning was returning, quickly. Her eyes widened, her gloved fingers reached for his arm and clutched it hard. He followed her gaze, and a chill ran over his skin. At first, it was difficult to discern what he was seeing, but the screams of agony and the smell of burning flesh quickly made it clear.

“Who is she?” Saskia asked, her voice hoarse with anger. “Is it Philippa?”

Iorveth had thought so too, at first, but the broken woman being laboriously carried forward by several soldiers had lighter hair, a different face, what left of it remained. Her eyes had been gouged out in the same manner that Philippa Eilhart’s had, the sockets filled with hot coals and a cloth bound about her head to keep them in place. Whether it was done to cauterize the wounds or to inflict further pain, Iorveth was uncertain. The woman was lashed to a tall, wooden stake, her clothing was torn and covered in blood and filth. Her hands were bound behind her back, her arms contorted in an unnatural angle. Her legs looked to be broken. The skin of her legs, arms, and face was freshly-singed, and Iorveth remembered Saskia’s unease over the single fire she had spotted outside their gates earlier in the morning. They carried her forward into the grisly mess of the corridor, making a steady path towards Mahakam gate. In addition to the soldiers carrying her, a handful more followed, keeping close to the hideous procession, including Veyne. 

Jaw clenched, Iorveth signaled the nearest archer. The elf produced an arrow, raised his bow, aligned it with Veyne’s exposed neck, and shot. The arrow burst in the air several feet from the commander, disintegrating as if consumed by fire, the result of a delicate forcefield held in place by the captive sorceress. Veyne’s cold laugh rang through the air.

“A gift from the mighty King Radovid of Redania! Do you like her, false queen?”

Saskia bolted down the parapet, and Iorveth followed close behind. She took the stairs two at a time, leaping nimbly down in spite of her heavy armor. She turned the corner behind the gate sharply, nearly stumbling into the thick knot of armed and armored dwarves that stood at the ready. 

“What is it?” Zoltan sprang to attention. “What did you see?”

“A sorceress,” she answered breathlessly. “They have a sorceress. We need to fall back. Back towards the second gate!” 

“But, Saskia--”

A deafening boom cut off further discussion, the resulting shockwave knocking those who stood nearest to the gate off their feet. The gate creaked and shuddered strangely, dust and rocks knocked loose from the blow raining down in a fine mist, but it was still standing for the time being. Iorveth sprang to Saskia’s side, helping her to regain her balance. 

“Everyone, back!” She leaned on his arm, but her voice was clear, resolute, and adamant. “Iorveth, pull your archers back to the walls above the marketplace. We’ll take a new position here. Everyone else, to me! They’re going to use the sorceress to try to get through. We must be ready for them.”

“A bloody sorceress?” Zoltan had grown quite pale, his knuckles bone white around the axe he clutched to his chest. He blinked, the confusion clearing from his face. “You heard Saskia, fall back!”

Iorveth left the others to retreat and ran for the walls. When he reached the top, his archers greeted him with pale faces. He turned his eye on the scene below and gritted his teeth. They were prodding her like an animal, driving the tips of their blades into her sides. Whatever reason the sorceress had held before had been lost, scattered by the continuous pain and cruelty inflicted by her captors. With each sharp goading, she screamed, feral and wild, and with each scream, she focused her magic forward at the gate directly before her. As their blades dug deeper, the pulses she exuded grew stronger. 

They had little time. Iorveth whistled sharply, snapping the Scoia’tael from their dismal trances, and signaled them to his side. “To the walls behind the gate! We’ll meet them when they get through. The sorceress can’t protect many of them.”

They followed him readily, and he ordered them into position, relinquishing the command of the archers to Eislenir. Iorveth intended to be at the gate when the dh’oine broke through, sword in hand, fighting amongst the others. Another deafening thud sounded at the gate. Its heavy hinges creaked with the force of the blow, and Iorveth was certain he saw small stress cracks forming near the center, creeping outwards in thin, dangerous tendrils. The sorceress would soon be through, and the Mahakam gate, their strongest defense against the invading force, would be breached. He cursed, and turned to find Saskia. 

She stood atop the walls, shouting orders to the soldiers below. The marketplace had been mostly cleared out, though strategically-placed barricades littered the area. Vergen’s defenders flocked to them, now, clutching their weapons. She turned to him as he approached, her eyes clear and focused.

“Iorveth. Are you prepared? They’ll be through soon.”

“I know, and I am. I’m ready to do whatever it takes, and I’ll die doing it, if need be. But you...Saskia, you must flee.”

She gave a terse laugh of surprise, her brow knitting in disbelief that he would consider making such a suggestion. “Iorveth--”

“I mean it,” he stepped closer, forcing her to look him in the eye, and she did. “Saskia, without you, your dream dies, our dream dies. No one else can carry it on but you. You must survive.”

“Vergen is mine to defend, as are the people fighting here today. I will not abandon them.”

“Sasia, I beg you--”

“No,” she clenched her jaw, and the anger in her voice silenced him. “I will not, Iorveth.”

She left him standing atop the wall, descending to the plaza below to prepare for the coming fight. Iorveth gritted his teeth and cursed. He signaled to Eislenir, who was impatiently prowling along the parapet nearby, bow in hand. 

“Eislenir, I need you to do something for me.”

The she-elf tilted her head attentively. 

“Should the tides turn and the city be overwhelmed...if it looks as though we will lose the fight, I need you to take some of the Scoia’tael, find Saskia, and get her out of Vergen. Take her into the hills, away from the gate, just be certain she gets out. And stay with her. Keep her safe.”

Eislenir did not speak, but her deep green eyes met his and glimmered with understanding. She nodded once, and Iorveth clapped her shoulder in gratitude before descending from the wall. Halfway down, a final, deafening boom sounded from the gate, and shortly after a long, ugly crack. Splinters of wood and shards of metal flew inward as the center of the gate exploded. Through the falling dust and debris, Iorveth saw the outline of the sorceress, cast carelessly aside on her wooden stake, her purpose fulfilled. She heaved a shuddering breath, slowly, and attempted to cry out, her voice feeble and broken. Veyne ran her through with a quick strike of his sword, a sneer of disgust on his face as he stepped over her now-still body. 

In just moments, the plaza was filled with enemy soldiers, their swords raised in the air, their eyes crazed with exhilaration at having made it into the city. Iorveth drew his sword and slew one and then another in quick succession. Saskia was right. Many of them were not true soldiers, but hired thugs with little skill or experience. Even so, the enemy’s numbers were far greater than their own. It would be an ugly, bloody battle. 

“Scoia’tael! Spar’le!” A rain of arrows punctuated his orders, descending from the walls above and precisely striking a number of enemies in the area. Numerous other battlecries were taken up, and in the sea of voices, Iorveth heard hers, sharp and clear.

“For Vergen!”

“For Saskia!” The reply was immediate and overwhelming, her name taken up by many voices, his included. 

The forces joined in a hideous clash of swords, vicious shouting, and instantaneous bloodshed. The archers on the walls took care of most of the soldiers funneling in through the breached gate, and those that made it inside were greeted by a host of angry Vergeni, humans, elves, and dwarves alike. On the other side of the breach, Iorveth could hear the rapid thundering of weapons against the gate as a handful of soldiers sought to widen the entry point. He parried an incoming blow, spun, and slew the blade’s owner with a swift strike to the throat. Through the crowd, Iorveth could see the commander, Veyne, still barking orders even as he cut down an assailant. His soldiers closed around him, keeping him largely shielded from the fighting. Bloede coward. Iorveth slew another attacker, then another. Moving towards the commander and his surrounding soldiers, he drove his sword through an enemy dh’oine’s back, saving a dwarf from being cut down. Cut the head from the snake and watch the rest wither and die. 

“Iorveth!”

Saskia’s voice rang out from the chaos, and he turned immediately to find her. He could just see her through a crowd of enemy soldiers, her and a few allied soldiers pinned against the wall of the marketplace. He shoved his way towards her, hacking at anyone who dared to draw near. His sword locked with a particularly vicious dh’oine who nearly overpowered him with a heavy blow, but on his second swing, Iorveth slipped to the side. The man stumbled, imbalanced, and Iorveth used the moment to bring his sword down across his neck. Kicking the body aside, he whistled to a small knot of nearby Scoia’tael. They joined him, and together they thinned out some of the enemies surrounding Saskia. Encouraged by the sudden reinforcements, those beside Saskia surged forward, as did she, and they made short work of the remaining foes. 

“Are you alright?” He turned slowly, his eye sweeping the battlefield and darting to her when he was certain they had a moment. 

“Yes. Thank you.” At that moment, a cacophony of agonized shouts rose from beyond the gate, and Saskia gave a breathless laugh. “It seems Yarpen received my message and gave our friends another taste of the oil. We should do our best to regroup while we can.”

“False queen!” His voice rang out above the others. Perhaps twenty feet away, the commander stood, still encased in a protective layer of disposable soldiers. “For all your tricks and traps and elusiveness - look around! Your city is crumbling around you! Your gate is destroyed, your walls breached. You struggle and snap and bite, like the rabid bitch that you are, but it will not delay your end! Meet me in battle, now, and die with some dignity for all your traitorous followers to see!”

Iorveth’s gaze turned to the walls above Mahakam gate, as did Saskia’s, and found that Veyne was right. His soldiers had scaled the walls, clearing them of any lingering allies and giving them an easy path around the corridor. Their reliance on the hot oil was over, and the enemy was pouring in ever more quickly in a seemingly endless stream. Iorveth felt her shoulders sag just the slightest bit, felt her weariness as keenly as he felt his own. He knew there was one chance left to end this in their favor, and their time was running out. He turned to her urgently, the gloved fingers of his free hand alighting gently on her waist. 

“Saskia, let me do this. Let me kill him for you.” 

She shook her head slowly, “It must be me.”

“Saskia, please. My people, your people need you. The archers on the inner walls need reinforcement. Please go to them. Let me kill this dh’oine for you, and if I fail, you will not.”

To his surprise and great relief, Saskia relented with a small nod. Her fingers brushed his cheek, and for a moment she leaned in close, her breath a whisper at his ear. “Stay alive, Iorveth.”

She turned for the walls, calling a small group of soldiers to her side to follow. From the parapet, Eislenir watched them closely. Her eyes met Iorveth’s with a question. He nodded, and the she-elf vanished. Iorveth turned to find the commander approaching, his eyes trained on the direction Saskia had gone, his lips twisted in a sneer. Iorveth stepped forward and into the commander’s path, his fingers flexing on the hilt of his sword.

“A thief and a coward! Very well. I’ll gut her lapdog first, then she’ll be soon to follow,” Veyne leered at Iorveth, close enough now that Iorveth could see his face clearly, see the desperate fanaticism in his eyes. “I know your ugly face, elf. And I know Radovid will pay me a fortune when I bring your head back to him, alongside hers.”

Iorveth smiled mirthlessly, slowly raising his blade. “Many dh’oine have made similar threats. Some have even gotten close. All have died. Their bones are rotting in the ground, and yours will soon join them.”

Veyne lunged with a shout, bringing his sword down in a heavy arc. Iorveth slid to the side and out of the way, not wishing to waste energy parrying such a blow. The man stumbled, but only for a moment. Iorveth darted in to stab at his side, but Veyne spun around too quickly and parried the attack. Iorveth leapt back and out of the man’s reach. Veyne circled, spitting, and moved forward in an attempt to drive Iorveth back towards the wall. Iorveth slipped to the side again, just dodging another wild lunge from the commander and giving himself more space. Veyne recovered quickly and lunged again, this time sweeping his sword to the side in a wide arc that Iorveth could not easily dodge. He parried the blow, his arm shaking with the impact. The dh’oine was larger than him, if slower and clumsier, and he struck with no small amount of strength. Veyne was close now, dangerously so. Iorveth kicked out his leg to trip the man but was only partly successful. Veyne recovered his footing quickly and swung again, driving Iorveth back once more. 

Sensing his advantage, the commander drove forward with a series of heavy, relentless strikes that drove Iorveth back and back. Cursing Iorveth slipped to the side once more and felt a sharp blow to his lower back. He spun with his sword, cutting down another soldier who had approached from behind. He turned back to Veyne, parrying just in time, and felt another strike, this time to his leg. Iorveth spun again, lashing out wildly and cutting another soldier open from shoulder to belly. He turned to meet Veyne but found himself hindered by a strong arm gripping his shoulder, then another clutching at his arm. Furious, he twisted, trying to shake them off, but he took too long to free himself. Veyne surged forward and struck Iorveth hard in the chest, knocking him to the ground. The commander laughed wildly, ending Iorveth’s attempt to roll to his feet with a sharp kick to his ribs. Behind him, his men sneered and laughed. Iorveth gasped at the pain, gritting his teeth as the edges of his vision darkened. No, he had to stay conscious...the fight could not end here.

“Fucking dh’oine,” he snarled, attempting to twist his body around to his hands and knees. He was met with another heavy kick that dropped him back to the ground.

“Stay in the dirt, where you belong. It’s over, elf! Soon, your city will be no more. Those who followed you and your false queen will look around at the ruins and weep, just before Redanian swords separate their heads from their shoulders. But you will not live to see that moment. Your dream is dead.”

Iorveth clutched his side and lifted his head to speak, but his mouth was filled with blood. He spat as much of it as he could at the dh’oine’s feet, his eye burning with unbound rage. “Never.”

Veyne raised his sword over his head, his eyes wild, the blade glinting a strange, bright red in the sunlight. Iorveth met the man’s gaze and awaited the strike, a thundering roar filling his ears and a flood of heat washing over him as he faced his end.

\-----

“Saskia!” Eislenir called for her attention atop the wall, ducking behind cover as an enemy bolt flew past her shoulder. 

Saska rushed to her side, “I’ve brought reinforcements! What can I do?”

“Follow me. There are others nearby that are cornered. We need to hurry!”

Saskia followed, trailing behind Eislenir, a small group of Scoia’tael close behind her. The she-elf led her back along the wall, away from the heart of the battle and towards a connecting path leading towards the Old Gate, a little-used route that ascended up into the hills and out of the city. As the sounds of the battle grew fainter, Saskia stopped. Eislenir noticed her hesitation and came to her side, impatiently urging her onward. 

“We don’t have much time. Come, we need to-”

“Enough,” Saskia snapped, exasperated. “This was Iorveth’s plan? To have you lure me out of the city?”

Eislenir frowned, her clever eyes uncharacteristically honest. “He wishes you to live, as we all do. There are too many of them. The battle continues to rage, but in truth, it is over. It’s senseless for you to die here when you can live.”

Saskia laughed, but the sound was hollow, mirthless. “Did Iorveth truly expect me to just follow you out of the city? Abandoning everyone when my presence is needed the most? Did you?”

“No,” Eislenir raised her bow slightly, her face blank but her eyes shimmering with uncertainty. “But I’ll force you, if I must.”

The other elves followed her lead and raised their weapons, though they averted their eyes when Saskia looked at them. Her jaw clenched, as did her fist. “There’s no time for this. My people need me.” 

She turned away from them, but they moved into her path in silence, weapons raised. Saskia barely saw them. Beyond where they stood, she could clearly see the battle below. In the midst of the ringing blades, furious shouts, the bleeding and the dying, she saw Iorveth. 

“He’s in trouble,” she whispered to no one. Her eyes followed his every move as he spun, parried, fought them off, the commander circling and waiting while his lackeys closed in. “There are too many. Move.”

Saskia surged forward, shouldering the nearest elf in her path hard enough to knock him to the ground. The others shouted and tried to stop her, but she hurdled past them. Eislenir’s fingers closed about her arm, but she pushed the she-elf back with a hand that shone with an eerie, golden light, a light that was growing, expanding, rapidly consuming her entire body. The Scoia’tael danced forward hesitantly, their eyes widening with fear as her edges began to blur. 

“Get back!” Her voice boomed and crackled as smoke curled from the corners of her lips. 

She barely heard their cries of terror beneath the rushing rhythm of her pulse rising in her ears. Saesenthessis sprang forth, her enormous claws launching her from the wall with tremendous force. She hurtled forward and down towards the heart of the battle, her fiery jaws opening to unleash a furious and deafening roar. 

\-----

Cries of sheer panic pierced the air, drowning out all other sounds but one. The very ground seemed to tremble with the force of it, and several soldiers dropped their weapons to cover their ears. Veyne stumbled backwards in fear and tripped, scrambling desperately to regain his balance. Iorveth did not allow it. He sprang to his feet, sword in hand, and threw his weight forward and into the commander’s chest. The man fell back, clutching at the air desperately for assistance that would not come. Veyne crashed into the ground heavily and wheezed as the air was knocked out of his lungs. His fingers scrambled for his sword. Iorveth kicked it away. Somewhere nearby, Iorveth was vaguely aware of screams of agony, the smell of burning flesh, and the crunching of armor and bones. His eye remained focused on the dh’oine before him. The man was babbling nonsensically, begging for mercy, offering riches and titles and a hundred other meaningless offerings. Iorveth advanced, the point of his sword aimed at the center of the man’s throat. The commander changed his tactics.

“You’ll regret this! Kill me, and you will never know peace! You’ll be hunted down, no matter where you flee, and you’ll be cut down like the rabid dog you are! My allies, they’ll find you and all those who stand behind you and send you all to hell!”

Iorveth leaned over the man, his lips twisting into a faint grin as he pressed his blade to his neck. “Meáth ess’va.”

He shoved the blade deep, far enough to feel the crack of bone.

“Iorveth!”

The shouts drew him back to the present, and he left the fallen commander without another glance. Eislenir and several others ran up to him, breathless, their eyes wide with terror. He did not need their incomprehensible babbling or fearful gesturing to know what they were afraid of. Saesenthessis fought nearby, her belly low to the ground to protect her more vulnerable underside, her wings tucked flat to her sides. She had strategically positioned herself between Iorveth and the gate, her fearsome presence shepherding the soldiers who had been attempting to enter the city back out, and at an urgent pace. But something was wrong. Her movements were imprecise and chaotic, where he knew her to be lithe and even more adept at fighting in her natural form than in her assumed one. Several times, she nearly snapped her jaws around an ally, then paused mid-strike and turned away as if confused. However, no one else could know her behaviors well enough to recognize that something was amiss, and certainly not the dh’oine who were now fleeing in droves. As they stumbled over themselves and each other in an awkward attempt to save their own lives, Saesenthessis growled long and low and menacing. Her wings snapped open suddenly, and she bounded forward, launching herself into the air and towards Mahakam gate. As she flew, her jaws widened, spewing fire down on the fleeing enemies beneath her. Iorveth raised his sword once more, drawing the attention of his nearby Scoia’tael.

“Follow her! Protect Saskia!”

“Protect, Sa--?” Eislenir looked as though she might laugh or faint. 

Iorveth did not waste time waiting for his brethrens’ response. Instead, he followed Saesenthessis’ path towards Mahakam gate, slicing at the few soldiers who were either slow in their retreat or brave enough to have remained. The gate was nearly abandoned, as was the stony corridor beyond. He leapt cautiously through the myriad of fallen soldiers, racing unwaveringly towards the edge of the city. The trees were in view, but she was not. Instead, evidence of her recent presence littered the ground in the shape of burnt and crushed corpses, scorched stone, and heavy smoke. Outside of Vergen, the enemy was all but gone. They had been constructing a camp, expecting a long fight - it sat in flames. Ash rained from the sky, and Iorveth had to squint his eye to see through it. Much of the treeline was ablaze, and the fire was spreading. He listened closely, then followed his ears into the forest. 

“Saskia!”

The smoke was thickening, but still he continued forward, driven by a mad and itching need to see her safe. She’s a dragon, you fool. What can you do to protect her that she can’t do herself? Iorveth continued to run. Just when the smoke seemed at its thickest and he was certain he was running straight into a hellish demise, the forest gave way to a small clearing on the edge of a stream. 

“Saskia.”

She was crouching in the water, naked, freshly-turned. Patches of her skin were blackened with soot. Next to her lay the corpse of some soldier, his body gored by massive claws. In her rage, she had carried the man with her, and dropped him here before she transformed. As he stepped forward, she splashed water over her arms and face, trying to cool down as steam rose from her body. 

“Are you alright?”

She looked up suddenly, as if surprised by his presence. Her eyes were golden, wild and horribly bloodshot. 

“Iorveth,” she croaked, her voice almost inaudible. 

She pushed herself up and out of the water, stumbling awkwardly onto solid ground as though she could barely control her legs. Iorveth stepped forward quickly and caught her, firmly holding her upright in his arms. Her body tensed, and for a moment he thought she might flee or attack him. But the rigidness in her muscles dissolved, and she sank into his embrace with a soft, shuddering sob. He held her tighter. 

“I killed people. Not just the enemy. I killed our people. I saw them, and still I killed them.”

“It was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t. I...I knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was like there was someone else...in my head. I saw her, Iorveth. I saw Philippa, as she is now. Her eyes were gone, but I could feel her watching me, trying to take control. I thought I was fighting her.”

It was Iorveth’s turn to tense, his temper spiking at the mere mention of the sorceress’ name. Philippa Eilhart, the traitorous bitch. He ran his hand over Saskia’s hair, caressed the side of her face, his thumb gently wiping a smear of ash from her the curve of her cheekbone.

“Whatever she’s done can be undone. Everything will be alright.”

“Everyone knows, now. They know. It’s over.”

Iorveth did not answer, for fear that she was right. In truth, he had known since the start of the battle that their odds of survival were small. He had known, too, that their chances at surviving and maintaining the facade they had worked so hard to build were almost nonexistent. He cared little, now. She was alive, and that was what mattered.

“We must go back. I need to face them. They deserve the truth, all of it.”

“If you wish. I’ll be with you.”

She had no clothing of her own, so he helped her pull what they could from the corpse of the soldier. Together, they walked back towards Vergen, skirting through the smoldering ruins of the forest. Saskia remained silent, her thoughts clearly preoccupied with what she intended to say to her people. But when he gently reached for her hand with his own, she took it.

\-----

The city was in worse shape than Iorveth had noticed when he was running through it, following Saskia. The enemy soldiers had set many of their supply caches on fire, and Saskia’s flames and fighting had done a great deal of damage of their own. Evening had long since fallen, and small teams were still working to find and put out all of the fires. Some still stood around them, asking questions, waiting for answers, watching her warily. But many had already left. Most of the humans had left before hearing the entirety of her plea. The nobleman, Niles, had died in the fight, and his allies had found no reason to stay, knowing Saskia’s truth. Some of the dwarves had left, too, though the majority remained, if not for Saskia then for their city. 

The Scoia’tael remained steadfast, arms folded across their chests, silently waiting for Iorveth’s command. He had spoken with some of them privately after Saskia had revealed everything, for he wished to know their thoughts, and he had no intention of forcing them to stay. In truth, he had been somewhat surprised at their response, but more than anything, Iorveth was proud. 

“Today was not the first time I’d seen Saskia...the real Saskia,” Eislenir had confessed, the firelight and her dark hair casting long shadows across her bloodstained face. “I saw her once before. On the day I joined you. She saved my village. She saved the Aen Seidhe who had saved me, after my parents were killed. She appeared out of nowhere, and the dh’oine attacking my friends, the only people I cared for - she killed them all.” She grinned slowly, and Cyprius held her closer in his arms. “It seems I owe her more than I knew.” 

It was a sentiment, it seemed, that not only Eislenir held. And so, the Scoia’tael remained. 

“So, what now?” Yarpen Zigrin asked gruffly, growing weary of the silence. 

Saskia did not speak, but cast her eyes from face to face. Iorveth knew she no longer felt that it was her place to decide what came next. It was theirs, the people of Vergen. She would honor their decision.

Cecil Burdon sighed and shook his head. “We don’t have the supplies or the numbers to keep fighting, and no doubt there’ll be more fighting soon. Saskia may have chased them away for now, but Radovid will be back, and with greater numbers. And that’s if Nilfgaard doesn’t get here first.”

“So what, then?” Zoltan looked at his comrades. “Are you suggesting that we flee?”

Dandelion played a few notes on his lute but said nothing. For a long while, no one said anything.

“Most of the supplies are already destroyed. The city’s in ruins,” Cecil shrugged slowly. “Maybe leaving a flaming hole in the earth for our enemies to find is the best we can hope for.”

“Aye, and forgive me for saying, Saskia, but the Redanians...they saw what you are. Every moronic human north of the Pontar will soon be looking to turn you into a trophy. It might be best if you flee, for your own safety.”

Saskia’s head drooped ever so slightly. No one noticed but Iorveth. There were words raised in agreement, slowly, tentatively. At last, they looked to Saskia for her response, and she spoke the words that Iorveth knew broke her heart. 

“If that is what is best.”

The plan was for most to be gone by morning, for there was no telling how soon the next army might be upon them. Heavy with fatigue, the remaining people of Vergen got a few, short hours of sleep, then rose to depart. Some formed groups, decidedly travelling together. Others left to rejoin the small villages they had left to come to Vergen some time ago. The bard, Dandelion, proclaimed that he would go to Oxenfurt to be amongst his peers, though the voyage seemed absurd. When asked where the Scoia’tael would go, Iorveth answered.

“We’ll go back to where we were before. Nowhere.”

The dwarves grunted in annoyance at his cryptic message. When Saskia was asked the same question, she smiled sadly and only said, “Where I am needed.” They did not press her further. 

As the long hours of the night turned into the early hours of the morning, Iorveth slipped away to visit his home one last time. The outside was scorched from some fire gone astray, but the inside remained intact. He gathered his few belongings: some clothes, his weapons, his pipe. As he finished, he looked around, doing his best to recall and retain all of the memories the small abode held. Memories of peace and comfort. Memories of the soundest sleep he had ever had. Memories of Saskia. When he closed his eye, he could just catch her scent still lingering in the air from the last night they had spent here together, or perhaps it was imagined. Iorveth drew in a long, slow breath and exhaled. He turned to leave. He did not look back.


	12. In Another Lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth recounts the events of Vergen’s downfall to a friend. The Scoia’tael prepare for what lies ahead.

The witcher had arrived. In another time, Iorveth would not have questioned whether or not Geralt would show, but of late, the witcher had been busy, or so rumor had it. Whispers of the vatt’ghern - along with his mysterious companion, a flaxen-hair young woman - had been all the talk in Novigrad and, consequently, the area immediately surrounding it. Iorveth smiled to himself as he watched the witcher slowly ascend the hill, escorted by Eislenir and a couple of other Scoia’tael. Geralt had a way of attracting a great deal of attention and fame, or infamy, depending on the circumstance, which was unusual for a witcher. Much about him seemed directly contradictory to the rules and limitations laid out by his profession. As he made his way up the hill, he turned his strange, yellow eyes upward and found Iorveth, despite the darkness of the moonless night. He raised his hand in greeting. Iorveth inclined his head.

“Gwynbleidd,” he greeted the witcher when at least he drew near, extending his hand. The witcher clasped it with surprising warmth. “It’s good to see you still live.”

“Iorveth. I didn’t expect to find you in Novigrad.”

Iorveth looked about at their forested surroundings pointedly, and the witcher frowned. 

“You know what I mean. Why are you here? They’re killing all manner of ‘freaks’ in the city. Soon they’ll start on non-humans, and they won’t limit their hunt to within the city walls.”

“A fear we’ve lived with every day of our lives, Gwynbleidd. Save your tears, though I thank you for your concern. We’re here to gather information. We’re nearly done.”

“Information? On what?”

“Nevermind, it matters little now. Why are you here?”

“The contract,” the witcher replied bluntly. “Though I’m starting to doubt its legitimacy. I was told by an innkeeper that some Scoia’tael had a few run-ins with the monster.”

Iorveth chuckled wryly, “Relax, vatt’ghern, the contract is real enough, as is the beast and the coin promised to whoever kills it. You can talk to Eislenir about it later if you wish. She saw the creature first-hand. But first, come speak with me.”

The witcher nodded in assent, and Iorveth led him further away from the Scoia’tael encampment below and into the forest. They walked in silence, as was Geralt’s way. But even he seemed to be growing uneasy at the length of their journey. Just as he seemed set on asking Iorveth for some clarity, Iorveth led them into a large clearing. A small fire burned in the center. Otherwise, the clearing was empty. 

“Welcome,” Iorveth gestured sardonically at the unimpressive space, which he had claimed for his own. “Have a seat.”

They picked spots near the fire, and Geralt did indeed sit, though uneasily. 

“Seems a bit dramatic to bring me here. Why do you stay so far from the others?”

“I enjoy my privacy. Relax, vatt’ghern, I’ve had many chances to kill you in the past and have never done so. Why start now?”

The witcher hardly seemed consoled, but he pressed no further. 

“The last I saw you, in Vergen, you were setting off to find someone. A sorceress, you said. Did you find her?”

“Yes,” Geralt held his hands up to the fire, his eyes glinting strangely in the flickering light. “Only to set off on another hunt for another woman. I found her, too.”

Iorveth watched the witcher from the corner of his eye, “I’ve heard rumors of your strange companion. You lead a strange life, Gwynbleidd.”

Geralt grunted in agreement. After a moment, he looked away from the flames and turned his gaze to Iorveth. It was clear he wished to speak, but each time he began to form words, he stopped himself. Iorveth frowned in annoyance at his companion’s hesitance. He despised hesitance.

“What? Speak.”

“I heard rumors...of what happened in Vergen, in the end. But there are many, and they’re varied, all telling different tales.”

“You wish to know which is the truth?” The witcher did not speak, but the answer was clear. Iorveth’s frown deepened, and in turn, he fixed his gaze on the fire. “We lost the city, obviously. We failed.”

“And Saskia?”

Iorveth winced slightly at her name. “Dead. She died protecting Vergen. What was left of it.”

Geralt reflected on this news for a long moment. “I heard about the battle against the Redanian army. I heard her secret was revealed. And I heard she went back, even after leaving or being forced to leave, to protect the city from Nilfgaard. I heard the Scoia’tael weren’t with her, that they’d fled.”

Iorveth gritted his teeth at the word, “We didn’t flee. We had to make a choice. I had to make a choice. To side with Saskia and fight to our deaths, or to protect my people. I’m certain it’s obvious to you now which choice I made.”

Geralt said nothing, but merely lowered his head in thought. After a long pause, he spoke again. “I heard another rumor. I heard a dragon was spotted leaving Vergen after the battle, and that it escaped with the help of some elves.”

Iorveth laughed mirthlessly, “Wishful thinking, I’d wager. Or the talk of those wishing to keep Saskia’s dream alive, to keep the fear of her return in dh’oine hearts. Whatever the case, it’s all talk. I’d know if she was aided by the Scoia’tael. I’d know if she escaped, if she still was still. But she didn’t, and she’s not. I failed.”

The two said nothing for some time, and the only sounds were those of the crackling fire between them and the distant, barely-audible chattering and laughter coming from the camp below. Away in the night, the voices joined in a bawdy song, the melodious voices of the elves joining with gruffer, deeper tones. 

“I noticed some dwarves joined your ranks.”

Iorveth shrugged vaguely, “Like us, they had nowhere to go after Vergen fell. So, like us, they chose to stick together with those they knew. No one travels alone these days, not if they wish to survive more than a few days.”

Geralt nodded and watched him, his disconcerting eyes unblinking from across the fire. “What will you do now?”

Iorveth considered the question. It was the same one that had been on his mind for some time, yet for all his pondering, he felt no closer to a concrete answer. He leaned forward and stoked the fire with a long stick, watching the flames dance and writhe and grow. 

“After we conclude our business here, we’ll return to the forest and wait. With any luck, the dh’oine will all kill each other off, and we’ll be left with some peace at last,” he chuckled softly. “And if not, we’ll do as we’ve always done. Survive. And bide our time.”

“If Nilfgaard has its way, there won’t be many places left to run to.”

“I’m aware, Gwynbleidd,” Iorveth replied, his voice unusually quiet. 

Geralt shifted on the ground, preparing to speak another thought and seeking the right words. “I have another suggestion.”

Iorveth lifted his gaze from the fire and locked it on the witcher attentively. 

"Got a place you could go. It’s remote, hard to find. Probably colder than you’d like and needs some work, but it’s got thick stone walls, tall gates, lots of supplies. Up in the mountains. Got a map?”

Iorveth produced the requested item from his belongings wordlessly, unsure of what Geralt had in mind and wary of what he was offering. The witcher took it and unfolded it on the ground, placing stones on its corners to hold it open.

“Here,” he placed a gloved finger on the location, and Iorveth’s eye narrowed in confusion. “Kaer Morhen. A witcher’s keep. Used to be, anyway. It’s empty now, abandoned - no one will return.”

“Truly?” Iorveth studied his companion closely, certain that what he was hearing was too good to be true.

The witcher nodded. “My ‘strange companion’ and I fought a battle there, along with many others. Some survived, others didn’t,’ he paused, slowly withdrawing his hand from the map, his strange eyes growing unfocused as he fell into the memory. “When it was over, we all agreed. We won’t be going back. Won’t be an easy journey, but if you make it, no one will bother you there. Probably not the home you were hoping for, but it’s a safer place than most.”

Iorveth sat in silence for a long time. They sat so long that even the hardened witcher began to grow uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to go there--”

“Thank you, Geralt,” he met the witcher’s gaze, and the other man looked surprised at the sincerity in Iorveth’s voice. 

The witcher bestowed a few details on how best to travel to Kaer Morhen, then, for the sake of both of their prides, they both silently agreed to speak no more of the subject. Iorveth offered his companion a place to stay for the night, along with some food and drink, but the witcher refused, eager to learn the details of the contract that had led him to the Scoia’tael camp. Iorveth escorted him most of the back down the mountain and pointed him to Eislenir for more information. Before they parted, Geralt offered his hand, and Iorveth took it, roughly clapping the man on his shoulder in thanks. 

“Good luck, Iorveth.”

“And to you, Gwynbleidd. Safe travels, and best of luck with all that lies ahead. Va fail.”

They parted ways, and Iorveth cast a slow glance over the camp to ensure that all was as it should be before making his way back up the mountain to his remote clearing. Iorveth sat before the fire, stretching his legs out and leaning back against a rounded boulder. The night sky was open and clear, the air cool and calm. He waited, his thoughts wandering as he reflected in the silence.

The faint snapping of a twig brought him back to attention. He turned his head in the direction the noise had come from and waited, expectant. From the edge of the clearing drifted a shape, moving closer towards the firelight. The figure was slender and cloaked, a hood hiding its identity as it moved nearer, slowly but with purpose. From beneath the hood, a few errant, dark curls were just visible. The shadow cast by the garment hid most of the face’s features, but Iorveth could see the eyes, and they were unmistakable - as they caught the firelight, they glowed a smoky, steely-blue. 

\-----

The city of Vergen was alive again, though the boots that tread over the stone walkways were black, the designs strange. The voices emanating from the bodies that milled within the walls were strange and heavily-accented. They moved about quickly and in an orderly fashion as they combed through the city, eyes gleaming from beneath their helmets as they searched for their quarry. Iorveth clenched his jaw and growled with impatience. 

“Why haven’t they started coming this way, yet? Something’s wrong.”

Eislenir squinted up at him from the ground with her deep green eyes, her neck craned back to see him, high as he was in the tree. “They will,” she assured him, though there was no way she could be sure. She shifted her weight from foot to foot impatiently. “This seems like a lot of trouble and risk for some group of ragtag dwarves.”

“Saskia watched these dwarves evacuate those unable to leave sooner. Many wouldn’t have made it out of Vergen in time if not for them, several Aen Seidhe included. Now they need our help. We won’t let them down.”

Eislenir made a noise of exaggerated annoyance, but challenged no further. “Should I move into position?”

He looked down at the wild-haired Squirrel and nodded. She grinned mischievously and vanished like a ghost into the forest, eager to start and finish what was soon to come. Iorveth descended the tree adeptly, muscles flexing, boots thudding lightly on the ground as he dropped from a lower branch. He checked his swords, his bow, his knife - he was ready and all too impatient for the fight to be underway. 

As if on command, Iorveth heard sudden, distant cries of alarm, and soon after the clanging of weapons on armor, shouts of distress, and the tell-tale noises of battle. Stretching out his limbs and assessing his readiness, Iorveth drew both of his swords and stepped into the middle of the narrow path leading through the forested area. Behind him, he felt the attention of the Scoia’tael trained ahead. He gave a sharp whistle, alerting them to ready their bows. Then, he waited. 

The first soldiers who came into view dropped before he could make out their faces, their bodies riddled with arrows. The next few clumsily tripped over the corpses of the first. They paid for their slowness with their lives as more arrows hissed through the air. The third wave made it further, but they were dropped by Scoia’tael archers several yards before reaching Iorveth. Finally, enough of them surged forward at once to outnumber the arrows falling from the trees. Iorveth raised his swords and dove into battle, Scoia’tael foot soldiers bursting from the forest to join him. The Nilfgaardian soldiers were well-trained and adept with their weapons, but they were slow in their heavy armor and unaccustomed to fighting the much faster, much fiercer Scoia’tael. They made short work of the Black Ones and waited for more. They did not have to wait long.

The forest filled with noise as more soldiers joined the fray, charging forward with shouts of rage as they spotted the bodies of their comrades. Blinded by their anger, they failed to see the squad of dwarves - the very dwarves they had been seeking inside Vergen’s walls - move in behind them to close off their escape. Surrounding the Nilfgaardian soldiers in a quick, fearsome pincer, Iorveth and the others cut down one after another until none remained standing. Iorveth took a moment to catch his breath, wiping blood from his face with the back of his gloved hand. 

“More of the bastards are coming!” A dwarf further down the trail cried out the warning and swung his axe into the air. 

“Fall back!” Iorveth commanded, his voice ringing out over the din of panic that had begun in response to the dwarf’s words.

Dwarves and elves alike did as he instructed, and just in time. Another wave of Nilfgaardian foot soldiers marched into view, led by several mounted soldiers in highly-decorated armor. They sat tall atop muscular warhorses, their weapons gleaming, their badges shining in the sunlight. And yet, they were simply dh’oine, soon to be deceased. At the call of one of the mounted officers, the entire wave of soldiers began to charge forward, their weapons raised as they drew closer to their prey. Behind the Scoia’tael sounded a heavy thud, and a wave of incredible heat washed over Iorveth’s back. The war cries of the charging foes turned into cries of terror, but it was far too late. Saesenthessis bounded forward carefully, navigating through the cluster of Scoia’tael and dwarves and stopping just behind Iorveth, her wings outstretched in a picturesque display of elation and fury. Iorveth felt the air around him ripple as she drew in a long, crackling breath. A moment later, the forest was awash in the light of the burning Nilfgaardian squad. Her roar drowned out their screams and the screams of their horses, and she bounded forward to finish her work, reaching out with claws and fangs to rend apart the helpless soldiers. Iorveth joined her side, slaying any Nilfgaardian he could reach, until the squad was completely decimated. Saesenthessis took to the air with an effortless leap, her wings taking her towards Vergen. She circled over the city, freely and eagerly raining fire down on the soldiers within, for not a single Vergeni remained within the scorched walls. He watched in admiration, keenly wishing that he could see through her eyes, feel what she felt as she unleashed her rage over the scrambling soldiers below. The thought of it made him shiver with excitement. Iorveth sheathed his swords and drew his knife, kneeling to cut away the badge of one of the fallen officers. Holding his singed prize up to the light shimmering down through the forest canopy, he grinned and pocketed the trinket for later. 

Saesenthessis was circling over Vergen again, lower this time, bent on her task of eliminating as many Nilfgaardian soldiers as possible. Judging from the thick columns of smoke billowing up over the city walls, she was succeeding. Iorveth silently urged her to be swift, for the Nilfgaardians were certain to have sophisticated, heavier weaponry that would be dangerous even to her, and no doubt they were working swiftly to prepare it. He watched as she circled once more, then nodded with anticipation as she changed direction sharply and set a course back towards the forest. She flew overhead, flying low above the trees and away from the path, deeper into the wooded area. Iorveth instructed his Scoia’tael to stay near the path in case any soldiers had been brave enough to try to follow her. He himself vanished into the forest, moving quickly over roots and mossy stones and fallen branches, needing to see for himself that she was alright. As he tracked her, he felt a shiver of familiarity, for he had run through these trees not so long ago, though the forest had been ablaze, and the Saskia he had found in the forest had been broken, crushed with despair at the losses she had endured. It was not the same Saskia he found now. 

When at last he came upon her, she stood in a grove of tall trees, her hand pressed against the face of a wall of mossy rock, catching her breath. Tears glistened on her cheeks, but they were not tears of anger or pain. Her bare chest heaved as he drew near, and when she met his gaze, her eyes were wild and ablaze. 

“It’s done,” she breathed. “We did it. It’s over.”

Saskia rushed into his arms, pressing herself against him as though assuring herself that he was real. He could feel her heart racing wildly within her chest, her arms around him trembling with adrenaline and release. Iorveth folded his arms around her and noted the feverish heat rising from her body. Her hands sought his face, pulling him to her, and she pressed her lips to his furiously. She kissed him hard, her lips parting to reveal the full warmth of her mouth. Distracted by the taste of her, Iorveth hardly noticed when she maneuvered them to the side and shoved him back against the rock wall she had been leaning on. He gasped lightly as his shoulders met stone, surprised at the adamacy of her actions. He was no stranger to the rush that followed battle and the desires it could awaken, but he knew also that Saskia was extremely controlled, and it was unusual to see her act with such little inhibition. Before he could question it, her lips were at his throat, her hands sliding along his armored chest. 

“Iorveth,” she murmured his name hungrily, her hands slipping upwards and along his shoulders. Her fingers tightened, pressing into him meaningfully. 

“Here?” Iorveth cast his gaze doubtfully at their surroundings. They were in the forest, true, but they were rather exposed. Anyone who might stumble into the area would be able to see them easily. Though he remained uncertain, her lips at his neck and her warm fingers working deftly at the laces of his trousers were quickly melting away his objections. Her hand slipped between his legs, feeling him eagerly through his clothes. He groaned softly at her touch and let his head fall back against the cool stone. “Saskia--”

She paused in her affections and met his gaze with her own. The wildness in her eyes abated, and in its place he saw only an intense earnesty. When she spoke, her voice was soft but resolute. “Please, Iorveth. I need you.”

Her words coursed through him, driving deep, filling him with a resolve he had not known he had lacked until then. To be wanted by her had once been far more than he had dared to hope for. To be needed by her, by Saskia…

Iorveth’s hands slid down along the stunning curve of her body to her waist and tightened. Leaning forward, he slipped his hands down further to the backs of her thighs and lifted her so that her weight rested on his hips. Turning, he pressed her firmly against the stone, bending to kiss her shoulder, her neck, the fine edge of her jaw, the soft skin of her ear. She tilted her head to the side with a gentle sigh, opening herself to him. Her hands slipped slowly beneath the edge of his bandana, deftly pushing it back and away until it came away altogether. He did not stop her. Her fingers slid through his loose hair, her nails coming along his scalp and sending shivers down his arms. He kissed her soft skin harder, hard enough to make her moan. She whispered his name, and he flexed his hips and rubbed against her, pressing between the bare warmth between her legs. The friction made her breath catch in her throat in a soft and wonderful gasp. Growling with delight, he repeated the motion and made her gasp again. 

“Iorveth,” she spoke his name again, this time with an almost pained urgency.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her away from the wall and carried her to a nearby area blanketed with leaves, the most comfortable place they would find in the immediate vicinity. He lowered her gently and positioned himself on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows. He wasted no time in beginning to kiss as much of her as he could, eagerly working his way down from her lips to her neck, to her chest, to the soft curve of her breasts. As his tongue explored the softness of first one nipple, then the other, his hand slid down across her taut stomach and between her legs. He groaned dizzily as she bucked her hips against his coaxing fingers and found her to already be warm and soft and ready. As he stroked her, she bucked her hips again, and his fingers slipped into her warmth. Saskia shuddered and moaned, closing her eyes to focus on the sensation. Iorveth watched her intently, entranced, his thumb circling her most sensitive area with firm, methodical strokes. 

Just as her jerking hips began to grow more erratic, Saskia’s eyes opened, and she clutched his hand, arresting his movements. He met her gaze questioningly, thinking she had perhaps changed her mind, but instead was met with a piercing, lustful stare that made him shiver with delight. She sat up suddenly, pushing him off her, then down and beneath her. She straddled him quickly, her fingers returning to the laces of his trousers. Iorveth watched her in silent awe, his hands sliding up along her muscular thighs. Submitting to Saskia never ceased to be thrilling, though where once he had done so with guarded apprehension, he now opened to her eagerly. She freed him from the constraints of his clothing, which had begun to grow painfully tight in light of his arousal, and held him in her hand. She stroked him slowly, firmly, savoring her turn at making him groan and buck against her. 

“Saskia…,” Iorveth spoke her name almost pleadingly, and she smiled. 

She granted his wish, gently aligning his tip with her entrance, slick with excitement, and pushed herself down onto him in one smooth, resolute movement. Saskia moaned, a long, soft sound of relief as he filled her. Iorveth himself gasped, his breath catching in his throat at the indescribable feeling of her surrounding him. She took only a moment or two to enjoy the feeling before she began, riding him swiftly and hard, leaning forward to grip his shoulders for balance. The position brought her closer, and Iorveth slid one hand from her hips to her waist, upwards to gently cup and caress her breast, then upward still to slide into her beautiful, golden curls. He drew her face to his and kissed her, groaning with mounting pleasure as her tongue slipped into his mouth, her teeth grazed his lip. When their lips parted, her eyes were cloudy with a deliriously-mounting pleasure. He slipped his hand between her legs and resumed circling the spot just above where they joined with precise strokes. The added stimulation pushed her over the edge, and her shoulders hunched slightly with anticipation as the pressure peaked. Saskia cried out, flexing her powerful hips downward and drawing him as deeply as she was able. Iorveth clutched her hips and held her in place, watching the shuddering stages of her pleasure with no small pleasure of his own. 

Bracing her in his arms, Iorveth turned them again. Catching her breath, Saskia’s eyes widened slightly as she felt his sustained hardness. She squeezed him from within and grinned, urging him to continue, and Iorveth gladly obeyed. Saskia stretched her arms out above her head, content to enjoy following his lead. Iorveth placed one of his hands over her own, and her fingers slipped between his as he began to thrust into her. She was incredibly warm, impossibly tight, a result of her recent orgasm. What was more, her sensitivity was marvelously heightened, and each thrust drew a dizzied moan of pleasure from her lips. Staving off his own peak, Iorveth moved with her, listening to the sounds she made, concentrating on her body’s cues. As her pleasure began to heighten once more, her fingers tightened against his, and the nails of her free hand dragged deliciously along his back, the pressure making him shiver even through his armor. Saskia braced and cried out once more, her body convulsing with ecstasy. Iorveth was not long in joining her. He thrust into her one last time amidst her muscle’s heated rippling and found his release with a shuddering groan. 

They stayed joined for some time, until the cool forest air on her bare, damp skin made her shiver. Iorveth began to withdraw, but Saskia tightened her legs, holding him in place. 

“Iorveth,” she whispered, her voice unusually raw, her eyes glistening with the weight of the question on her mind. He looked into her eyes with his own, his thumb softly tracing the edge of her lower lip. She drew in a slow, deep breath, and he let his hand fall to the side of her face, attentive to what she wished to ask. “What will happen now?”

Iorveth tilted his head slightly at the question, mildly taken aback that the answer was not already obvious to her. She did not move or speak, but her eyes glinted with apprehension as she awaited his answer. He felt a twinge within his chest, a stab of sadness that she felt she needed to ask, but not so long ago, so many who had promised to stand by her side had walked away without a second glance, forsaking her name with curses, purging their memories of the dream they had shared. Iorveth knew the feeling well. 

“What happens now is whatever you wish to happen, Saskia. So long as you wish me to, I will stand beside you.”

A tear spilled from the corner of her eye, and he caught it gently with his thumb. She slipped her arms over his shoulders and drew him near, pressing her face against him. She made not a sound, but he felt her shudder softly, releasing her anguish, her worry, all of the pain that had been sitting inside her since they had first fled Vergen. He pressed his face into her soft hair and held her until she was ready to part. 

When at last they separated, they walked together through the forest to the place where they had stashed some of her belongings. She shook the leaves from her hair with a soft laugh, and he grinned as he watched her dress. When all was in order, Saskia stood by his side and took his arm. Together, they returned to where the Scoia’tael and the escaped dwarves waited, and together they looked upon the ruins of Vergen one last time before walking away into the forest. 

\-----

“Did he believe you?” 

At last, she reached the fire and loosened her cloak, pushing the hood back from her face. She let the entire garment slip to the ground and delicately kicked it aside - the cloak was already in need of cleaning from her travels and from having spent months in the forest, and she seemed unconcerned about dirtying it further. Beneath the cloak, she wore simple breeches, a short, belted tunic, and boots. She picked a spot near him and settled herself by the fire.

“It’s difficult to say for certain, but I think he did. At the very least, I believe it’s the story he’ll tell anyone who asks.”

“Good,” Saskia sighed, and her shoulder sagged slightly in relief. “Good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Saskia lost in thought and Iorveth content in his own, especially now that he was in her company. 

“The witcher believes Novigrad is getting worse, that soon we’ll be in danger.”

“I believe it,” Saskia replied distantly. “Each time I’ve visited, I’ve seen more and more suffering, felt the tension growing. The woman who dyed my hair, an Aen Seidhe, I went to visit her the last time I was in the city - she was evicted from her home on no reasonable grounds. She was able to find another place to stay, but the city guard took all of her belongings and left her with a black eye.”

Iorveth said nothing, ignoring the twinge of anger that welled deep in his stomach. Her story was nothing out of the ordinary. A hundred new stories like it formed every day. 

“And the hunt for any involved with magic has only grown more intense,” Saskia continued. “I believe the owner of the bookstore I’ve been visiting is becoming uncomfortable with my presence. He’s seen the books I’ve been reading. I doubt I’ll be able to visit many more times, which perhaps is for the best. I think I’ve learned all I can of curses and how to undo them.”

“If anyone can help you further, the witcher can,” Iorveth offered, to which Saskia frowned. 

“I’d prefer him to stay under the belief that I am dead, like everyone else, at least for now.”

He pressed no further, very aware of her ongoing suspicion of Geralt. Iorveth could not blame her for being cautious. If word got out that she lived, trouble would soon follow, for her and for them all. And, as reliable as the witcher was, the fewer who knew of her whereabouts, the better. 

“Did you hear him speak of the witcher fortress, Kaer Morhen?” He posed the question softly, uncertain how she felt about the witcher’s offer. 

“Yes,” for the moment she said no more, lost again in her own thoughts. 

“Whatever you decide, I’ll be with you.”

Saskia moved closer, close enough for the curve of her hip to press against his, and took his hand in her own, settling it in her lap. Her fingers entwined with his, and she gently rested her head against his shoulder. Though there was little reason to be surprised by her display of affection, such actions on her part never failed to make his heart beat a little faster. Iorveth slipped his right arm about her waist and held her close. 

“The witcher was right. Soon enough, there will be few places to hide, and those few places will not be safe. We aren’t many, but all of us are outlaws. If we were to be caught…,” she trailed off, the rest not needing to be spoken. “My business in Novigrad is concluded, and we’ve no reason to stay. I think we should leave for Kaer Morhen. But I want to know how you feel.”

Iorveth considered it. The witcher had not exaggerated. The journey would be long and fraught with danger, particularly now with the war reaching a frenzied zenith of bloodshed. However, the alternative would be to stay put or to wander the forests aimlessly, and that solution would soon be no less dangerous.

“Fortified walls did have a certain charm to them,” Iorveth admitted. “And we could use someplace secure to bide our time, wait out the war. Dh’oine lives are short. In a few decades, most of those who opposed you will be dead, slaughtered by another dh’oine in some battle or of natural causes. In another lifetime, maybe two, we could start again.”

Her hand tightened on his, and he tilted his head towards hers, inhaling the scent of her hair. The fingers of her free hand traced a gentle pattern over his knuckles, his wrist, his forearm. 

“Then it’s settled,” she murmured. 

Iorveth nodded and began to stir, “I should tell the others. They’ll need to prepare for the journey.”

Her hand on his arm arrested his movement, urging him to stay beside her. Iorveth turned towards her, expecting her to have more to say, but instead found her face very close to his own, her eyes glittering, her lips curved in an exquisite smile. She slipped into his lap, wordlessly guiding his hands up along the curve of her waist until they rested just beneath her breasts. Iorveth could feel the alluring heat of her body through the thin material of her blouse, could envision the beauty of her naked body. He swallowed hard, unable to conceal his growing arousal. Her grin only widened as she felt him, and she shifted her hips so that he pressed between her legs. She leaned in close, her lips just brushing the sensitive skin of his ear, her breath a whisper meant only for him. 

“Tell them in the morning,” she suggested in a way he would never dream of refusing.


End file.
